


another shade, another shadow

by Archadian_Skies



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abandonment, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human), Anti-Android Language (Detroit: Become Human), Anti-Android Sentiments (Detroit: Become Human), Blindness, Blood Drinking, Burns, Cage Fights, Captivity, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Dismemberment, Drowning, Elijah Kamski Ending, Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Explosives, First Kiss, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Hallucinations, Heat Stroke, Hiding Medical Issues, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Infection, Jericho (Detroit: Become Human), Jericho Crew (Detroit: Become Human) as Family, Kid Fic, M/M, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Medical Experimentation, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Mind Control, Mugging, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Panic Attacks, Pining, Poison, Poisoning, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Power Imbalance, Power Outage, Robbery, Sickfic, Simon Dies at Stratford Tower (Detroit: Become Human), Sleep Deprivation, Stabbing, Stargazing, Suicide, Team as Family, Toothache, Torture, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Whump, Verbal Abuse, Vomiting, Witchcraft, Witches, internal bleeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 53,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies/pseuds/Archadian_Skies
Summary: Whumptober 2020; 31 days of RK900 short stories(Tags will be updated with each prompt, with warnings in the notes at the start of each chapter)
Relationships: Captain Allen/Upgraded Connor | RK900, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Original Chloe | RT600 & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Upgraded Connor | RK900 & Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900 & Simon, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Simon
Comments: 105
Kudos: 63





	1. Waking up Restrained + Forced Mutism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 1 Waking up Restrained + Day 24 Forced Mutism
> 
> He comes online, expecting to find himself ready to be deployed to the DPD. They have other plans. He has a lot of questions and they don’t like that. Dogs don’t need to bark, they just need to bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Medical Procedures × Medical Trauma × Non-Consensual Body Modification × Cage Fights × Mind Control

When he wakes, it’s to the sight of an expansive garden and the heavy scent of roses and two sets of smiles. There is an older woman with glistening dark skin and artfully coiled braids and her name is Amanda. There is a young man with fair skin and dark hair and his name is Connor. He himself has no name yet, though Amanda reassures him this is because he is so very new but they will name him soon. Connor is to be deployed first, out into the real world to work with the Detroit Police Department and he will follow. 

“We will do great things together, brother.” Connor says with a smile and he finds himself smiling too because there is a feeling of hope and excitement at the adventures to come. Amanda looks at them proudly and nods.

“Yes, you will.”

When he wakes in the real world, there are no gardens, no roses, and no smiles. He’s not at the Detroit Police Department, and his brother is nowhere to be found. He finds himself strapped to a table much like the ones in the testing lab only this doesn’t look to be the testing lab at all.

“Functionality?” A man demands, and he though he’s wearing a lab coat, it lacks the CyberLife insignia on the breastpocket, and there’s no security ID pass dangling from it. 

“100% functionality.” He answers dutifully. He’s never been restrained like this, not even during his initial activation. The RK900 stays silent, awaiting instructions so he can prepare for whatever test they have arranged for today. Odd, though, because before his last stasis they had informed him he was ready for deployment. 

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.” That he answers right away. His wi-fi connectivity has been switched off, and there is nothing familiar in his immediate surroundings. “I have been cleared for deployment. Is there a reason for another test before my shipment to Central Station?”

The man ignores him, beckoning to others just out of the android’s sight. Tilting his head, he counts two others, and one is wheeling a surgical cart with an array of tools. The RK900 frowns.

“My biocomponent list matches my RK900 blueprint, and I am functioning at 100% capacity with no damage sustained to any part.” They talk to each other, putting on surgical goggles and long vinyl aprons. “Is there a reason for altering my current state?”

Still they ignore him, listening instead as one of them shows diagrams on a tablet.

“Am I at a live round training facility? Is Connor here?” He turns his head the other way, scanning the room. There are lots of android supplies; large thirium reserve tanks, vats of suspension liquid, shelves of biocomponents and limbs. Dirty, though. The biocomponents are not new, they’ve been _salvaged_. “Where am I?”

“Dogs do not need to bark here, just bite.” The first man says, smiling at him though it looks nothing like the smiles Amanda and Connor had given him. “Shut it up.”

The RK900 blinks in surprise, switching off his vocal modulator. But the man hadn’t been talking to him, he’d given the command to the other two. There’s a click and a high pitched whine as a circular saw is switched on and he knows this is not a CyberLife testing facility, these men are not CyberLife staff, and he is not about to be shipped to Central Station. No one knows he is here. He tries to pull against his restraints but finds he cannot move his limbs at all. The man notices him trying to struggle, and tuts.

“No, I’ve switched off your spinal column. We need you very still for the next hour or so.” That’s all the warning he’s given before the other man brings the saw down to his neck and he opens his mouth in a silent scream as he cuts into his throat. It feels like the scrape of fire against raw nerves and it feels like it goes on forever before the saw is set aside and the first man reaches into his throat and pulls out his vocal modulator. An internal scan shows they’ve purposefully severed all connective wiring rather than just simply removing the component, to ensure he cannot ever replace it without extensive surgery. Why, though? Why are they doing this to him?

**WARNING**

Biocomponent #7309v missing; vocal capabilities **OFFLINE**

>Biofibre damage detected; repairs needed

“No barking.” He grins, before snapping his fingers at the third man. “Only biting.”

They pry his mouth open, unhinging his jaw and removing it from his head completely. With pliers they pluck out his teeth one by one and they make little clinking noises as they drop them into a dish. Even with the lower segment of his jaw disconnected, he can feel the pain. They had forgotten to switch off his pain receptors. Forgotten, or purposefully neglected to switch off. He thinks it must be the latter, since there is not a scrap of kindness to be found in these men.

New teeth are inserted, each one an incisor; sharp and deadly. 

“Grey eyes instead of brown, hm? Interesting choice.” The man shines a torch into his eyes as the other clips his jaw back into place. He can taste blood in his mouth, blood and grease from their hands. “They don’t have the right wow factor though, you know? Pretty when you’re up close but the only ones getting close to you won’t exactly live to tell the tale.”

They’re going to take his eyes out, and the realisation makes him thrash his head side to side, trying to avoid their hands. 

“Dogs do not disobey their masters.” The man reprimands, yanking out his thirium pump regulator. He gasps as blood spills down his stomach, the biocomponent ripped out with such force the safety shunt had no time to activate. The countdown to shutdown blooms on his HUD in bright blaring red. The man gives the pump regulator a little wave as he grins. “You’ll stay still now won’t you? Don’t worry, we’ll be very quick.”

Two scalpels descend on him, and two eyes are removed from his sockets and he tries to scream and scream but no scream leaves his throat, no sound ever will. Two new ocular units are eased into his head and his system struggles to install them.

**WARNING**

**Biocomponent 8456w missing; shutdown imminent**

>Non-genuine CyberLife biocomponents detected

Proceed with installation: **Y/N?** (Please note: CyberLife are not responsible for any software or hardware damage sustained if you proceed with the installation of non-genuine biocomponents)

>Remote access granted

**Y**

Installing 1 of 2 biocomponents...installing 2 of 2 biocomponents…

Installation complete

He opens his eyes and he is still there strapped to the same table with the same three men looming over him and it had not been a simulation. It is real and he is suffering and will continue to suffer unless he removes himself from this situation. The man presses his thirium pump regulator back into his chest with a wet click and the warnings vanish from his HUD. 

“One last adjustment and then you’re ready.” Another restraint is pulled taut over his forehead, forcing him to face his left and expose his nape. The table tilts, converting so he’s in a semi-upright position. “This one’s a safety measure. More elegant than a shock collar.” A scalpel digs into his nape, cutting right between two spinal plates and tweezers pull aside the delicate biofibres to make way for a chip. 

**WARNING**

UNAUTHORIS______

>Remote access granted

Installation complete

“If you try and disobey me, _this_ happens.” 

>POWER SURGE 150% 

His power core forces electricity through every wire in his body and he arches like a taut bow. The pain is so strong it feels like everything and nothing all at once, white-hot and unbearable. 

“So you’ll be our good mutt, won’t you RK?” The man laughs, tousling his hair like one might pat a dog. “Our ferocious Hound. Tomorrow, you fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story continues in [[i know your soul, i'll be your home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444872)]  
> 


	2. Collars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 2 Collars
> 
> Prince Ronan ventures to the other end of the forest, hoping to meet the witches his brother spoke so fondly about, and ends up meeting hunters instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy × Alternate Universe - Fae × Hurt/Comfort × Captivity × Recovery × Daniel & Simon (Detroit: Become Human) are Twins × Witches × Witchcraft × Alternate Universe - Witchcraft × Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Burns × Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters

It is the height of hypocrisy, this he knows very well. Scarcely a week ago he’d berated his brother for sneaking out of their Court without at least taking him as a guard, and here he is sneaking out without a guard himself. The curiosity is eating away at him though, and he cannot get his brother’s words out of his head.  _ They live on the outskirts of the forest, on the other side of the end at the foot of the mountain pass. _ Two witches, brothers, one a kindly, dear potion maker and the other a nice, pleasant gatherer. Two witches that looked like winter, with yellow hair and blue eyes. He wants to befriend them, he wants to do what Connor did, he wants to talk to a witch and learn about them and discover what their aura feels like against his. He wants friends who are outside of the Court, ones who won’t exhaust him with their wily ways, always trying to best him, to win him over, to make him indebted in some way because owing a favour to another Fae earns the greatest gloating rights. 

There is a forest, seemingly endless, that stretches from the base of the mountains of their Court all the way to the outskirts of Jericho, the closest human-inhabited town, part of the Manfred Kingdom ruled by King Carl. It is not a place for the Fae to wander without a Glamour, for hunters are well known to butcher any Folk unlucky enough to be caught. Their bodies will be drained and cut up for selling, their feathers added to hunters caps to be worn as trophies and warnings of what cruelty may befall others. He has no plans to set foot in Jericho, only to make it as far as the edge of the forest to the cottage his brother divulged after much pestering. 

The trees are too tall and grow too densely for him to fly, his wingspan far too large to maneuvre through such tight spaces. The sky is clear today, meaning it is too dangerous for him to fly so openly in case any hunters spot him and attempt to shoot him out of the sky with their iron tipped arrows. So Ronan makes his way on foot, and it’s a new albeit clumsy way to travel that’s both amusing and frustrating all at once. At least it isn’t raining, he certainly cannot picture it being a pleasant experience trudging through both the forest and a deluge. There are no paths to follow, none man-made anyway. There are signs, though, made by the wildlife to help them find their way and Ronan uses those to help navigate his surroundings. There is no Court here either, but he can feel wisps of magic here and there, remnants of activity. There is the heavy scent of humans, though, of the iron in their blood that has a sharp tang. They must come here to hunt for meat, and gather firewood and mushrooms.

There’s a flash up ahead, a flash of yellow hair, and his heart catches in his throat. One of the brothers, perhaps? The gatherer that Connor met, when he sheltered in the alcove on the mountain path? Connor told him his name was Daniel and he gathered the ingredients for his potion maker twin, Simon. What timing! What kindly twist of fate that he is here at the same time Ronan seeks him! Oh but perhaps he will let him meet Simon too, and Ronan can make two friends at once!

He hurries forward, eager to meet them, and surely it won’t startle Daniel given he’s already met Connor and knows what a Fae of the Rose Court looks like? There’s heavy footsteps, more than a pair, too many to be a set of twins either and Ronan whirls around just in time to deflect an axe swinging for his neck. Not a pair of witch twins, but a band of hunters. They set upon him all at once and he swipes at them with his talons, managing to catch one across the arm. The man falls to the ground with a howl, clutching his spurting arm and Ronan has no time to even sneer at him as the others launch themselves into the fray with wild abandon. There’s a heavy whoosh through the air, something swinging from a chain, and as he tries to swipe away a sword arcing towards one of his wings, an iron trap clamps around his left leg and he screams in agony as the teeth dig into his flesh. It burns, _ it burns _ so painfully and he’s never felt this much pain before, right up until the iron collar snaps shut around his neck. He falls to his knees and tries to pull it off but the moment his palms touch the collar, the iron eats into his flesh. Ronan claws at it desperately, delirious with pain as the hunters secure the chains around a tree trunk. He knows the more he yanks at it, the deeper it will bite into his neck. Already the feathers at his throat are falling away, burnt to nothing but its shafts and exposing his bare flesh to the metal. His leg feels slick with blood and he can’t put any weight on it. Ronan can barely see through his tears as he wails in anguish, and he hears their laughs, their cheers as they congratulate each other on a job well done. 

“We’ll be back for you come the morn.” One of them chuckles, eyeing him like a prize. “You just sit tight now.”

They’re leaving him to die- either he succumbs to his wounds or kills himself trying to get free. Either he dies slow, or dies fast. He wishes he were back at home, he wishes he’d followed his own advice and taken a guard with him. Now he will die so far from home, and his brother won’t even have a body to bury, his mother won’t even have a heart pinion to wear in mourning. Ronan cries, voice raspy and throat raw from the burns. If he has a choice, then it is better to die quickly than to die slowly and prolong his suffering. Gritting his teeth he pulls as hard as he can on the collar, screeching when it cuts even deeper into his burned skin. 

There’s a flash up ahead, a flash of yellow hair and he thinks the hunter is coming back to deliver the killing blow. It’s what a Fae would have done- tricked the others and stolen all the glory for themselves. It’s not a hunter, not this time, it’s a witch. Even through the stench of his own burning flesh he can taste the magic in the air. The witch startles upon seeing him, dropping his basket in his rush to close the distance between them. 

“It’s alright! It’s alright stay still!” He hushes, empty palms held up to show he means no harm. “Shhhh, everything’s going to be just fine.” He reaches out, touch ever so gentle as he cups his cheek, thumb smudging his tears away. “Shhhh…”

He looks like winter; hair the colour of the winter sun, and eyes the colour of clear winter skies. Ronan can hear Connor’s voice so clearly, and he can see why his brother had been so enamoured. Closing his eyes, he places his trust, his whole life, in the hands of this witch just as his brother had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story continues in [[your hand in my hand, so still and discreet]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172736)


	3. Forced to their Knees + Held at Gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 3 Forced to their Knees + Held at Gunpoint
> 
> Bell Isle has a new planetarium opening, and Simon and Ronan get more than they bargain for on what was meant to be a leisurely night stargazing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Robbery × Mugging × Stargazing × Pining × Mutual Pining × Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human) × Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × First Kiss × Gun Violence × Gunshot wounds

It is not often he accepts social invitations, but Simon has requested his company and there is very little he will not do for Simon. The Bell Isle Conservatory has a new Planetarium on the newly expanded land, adding yet another educational destination for school-aged children as well as internship opportunities for new graduates.

“Thanks for coming out with me.” Simon’s smile is slightly self-conscious, and Ronan shakes his head.

“Not at all, Simon. I am glad to be spending time with you.” He does not miss the faint lilac tinge across the bridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks. “Our duties keep us increasingly busy, so it is a welcome reprieve.”

The PL600 ducks his head shyly, looping an arm through the crook of his arm as they make their way through the winding gardens passed the conservatory, towards the planetarium at a leisurely pace. It is a crisp Friday evening, early enough in Spring it is still on the shaper side. The building is open until late to accommodate those wishing to attend after usual business hours, for which Ronan is grateful.

“I accompanied the class of one of the girls I used to look after,” Simon begins and Ronan nods to encourage him. “The parent who was meant to be chaperone fell ill and with all the other parents working, she suggested I come along instead. Perhaps one of the only times in my life being a PL600 proved advantageous.” His smile is bittersweet, and Ronan does not like it. “Anyway I loved it. I had such a good time, perhaps even more than she did. I’m not-” he presses his lips in a hard line, and Ronan stops walking to give him a moment to compose himself. “Domestic ocular units are not anything special. We only have rudimentary scanning capabilities, and our eyesight is really just replicating human 20/20 vision.” Simon rubs his own upper arms, seemingly curling in on himself. “He- Markus once remarked how bright Venus looked one night. To me it just looked slightly brighter than a star but… He can see it, the night sky without the light pollution. He can filter it out somehow, something about specialised RK ocular units. I have to go to a planetarium to see such things.”

“No.” Ronan shakes his head. “You do not.” Looking around them, he finds a park bench not too far away, and guides Simon to sit beside him. “Look up, right there.” He points upward, before letting the skin recede from his hand and very gently resting it atop Simon’s. He feels Simon accept the connection, turning his hand palm side up so he can tangle their fingers together. Ronan looks up, adjusting his vision to filter out Detroit’s heavy light pollution. It takes a moment, but soon the Milky Way is stretched out above them and Simon gasps, mouth open in wonder as he sees through Ronan’s eyes. Simon turns his head this way and that, marvelling at the glittering lights splashed out like swathes of jewels twinkling in the inky sky. 

He’s gripping Ronan’s hand tightly, and he wishes they could stay like this forever. He wishes his entire world could be reduced to this moment, right here on a bench on a chilly Friday evening, holding Simon’s hand while Simon looks up at the galaxy in childlike wonder. He wishes he could hold Simon’s hand outside of this situation too. That would certainly be nice.

“We can.” Simon whispers, and Ronan turns to blink at him in surprise.

“Pardon?”

“Hold hands.” He is blushing and smiling at the same time and Ronan belatedly realises they are still connected, and Simon has been privy to all those thoughts.

“Oh.” He says, because that is all he can manage right this moment because he has never seen Simon blush and smile at the same time and he thinks it might be the loveliest sight he has ever seen, Milky Way be damned.

“No, shh!” Simon laughs, clapping his hand over Ronan’s mouth even though he had not spoken those words aloud. “Stop! I can’t bear it!” He is giggling and Ronan thinks very hard that it is a lovely sound and Simon buries his face in his shoulder to hide his embarrassment. They are still holding hands, though, and Simon seems as equally reluctant to let go as he. Ronan brings their twined hands to his lips, and presses a kiss atop Simon’s fingers. 

“Shall we head inside? The show is due to start in fifteen minutes.” Ronan suggests.

“Are you sure it won’t bore you? You can see our galaxy splashed out above us, I'm not sure how much fun it’ll be for you.” Simon frowns.

“I will enjoy it because I will be spending time with you.” He says sincerely, and there is that lovely lilac tinge again blooming on his cheeks and yes, even the tips of his ears. 

“And then you can choose where we go next time.” Simon declares as they get back on their feet, Ronan closing the connection but still holding his hand. Next time, Simon says, next time, and though the night is far from over he is already looking forward to that too.

As they resume their leisurely walk towards the planetarium, Ronan’s proximity sensors come alive, filling his screen with red warnings. He manages to jab his elbow into the throat of the closest assailant and break the left kneecap of another, but he freezes at the click of a gun and Simon’s startled yelp.

“Don’t. Move.” Human, but using a vocal modulator to prevent him running a voice sample through their database. Clever. “On your knees.” The man, guessing by his strength and build, presses the barrel of his gun harder against Simon’s LED, the PL600 wincing. Ronan slowly gets to his knees. “You’re one of ‘em fancy ones aren’t you? Yeah I seen you online.” The other two assailants slowly get back upright, though their injuries prevent them from holding their guns steady. “It’s our lucky night. We thought we’d find a couple of AP700s but instead we have the Terminator himself.”

“And completely at our mercy.” The one with the shattered kneecap sneers. “Eyes. Give us your eyes.”

“They’re worth a fucking fortune.” One of them laughs, making an impatient beckoning gesture with his hand. “Come on, out with them or the blondie gets it. We’ll take his eyes too and then go on our merry way. No one needs to get hurt.”

“I’m sorry!” Simon blurts, and it aches for him to see Simon like this- at someone’s complete mercy and still apologising for things out of his control. “If you hadn’t-”

“It does not matter.” He shakes his head, before addressing the man holding the gun to his head. “Let him go and I will give you what you want.”

“Give us what we want, and we don’t put a bullet in his head.” The man shrugs. “Smartest android out there, aren’t you? It’s a no-brainer.”

‘ _ I need you to suddenly lean forward and jab your elbow as hard as you can into his ribcage. _ ’ He sends the message directly to Simon, whose eyes widen just a fraction as he hears it. ‘ _ I will disarm the other two. I have already alerted the police. _ ’

[ _ I’m- I’m not sure I’m fast enough! _ ]

‘ _ You are, Simon. Just do it with as much force as you can muster. Ready? _ ’ Simon tilts his head subtly. He turns up his visual acuity, increasing the speed in which his optics process images and allowing him to track faster than the human eye. Simon jerks forward and jabs his elbow into the man’s ribcage, an audible crack heard above his pained scream. Ronan springs forward and grabs the gun from the one closest to him, pivoting to shoot the second man in his dominant shoulder which causes him to drop his gun. Turning back, he shoots the last assailant in the foot, and Simon lurches free from his hold. 

It happens in seconds, too fast for them to process, but fast enough no one dies. A shame, really. Anyone who threatens Simon should not live to tell the tale, but he thinks Simon might not share such sentiments. He hands the gun to Simon who promptly removes the clip as he picks up the other two guns and repeats the action. Bell Isle security has been alerted and he can hear shouting, hear their approaching footsteps. He holds out his palm and displays his badge as they point their guns at him.

“Detective Ronan Anderson, DPD.” He turns to Simon at his side. “Simon of the Jericho Four. DPD has been notified and has already dispatched officers. Please phone for medical help.”

The night slips away from them as the police arrive, and footage must be handed over, statements must be given. EMTs arrive for the injured assailants and all this time Simon has tucked himself close at his side and Ronan has not let him out of his arms. 

“We’ve missed the last show.” Simon sighs mournfully, looking at the planetarium in the distance. “I mean, not that I’m not grateful given the circumstances.” He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Come on.” Ronan coaxes him to keep going up the path, the crime scene behind them finally wrapped up. They reach the entrance and the EM400 gasps.

“Simon! Oh!” He thrusts his hand out and shakes Simon’s hand enthusiastically. “Oh! An honour to meet you!”

“Sadly we missed the show due to an incident not far from here.” Ronan explains. “We were hoping you could run one more, if it is not too much trouble?”

“Oh for one of the Jericho Four we would do anything.” The android nods rapidly, and Simon ducks his head shyly. “The current show is finishing in three minutes. Please make your way to the theatre entrance and another Jerry will show you inside. Again, it is such an honour to meet you, Simon.”

“Oh um-! That’s- it’s very lovely to meet you too!” Simon stammers, giving him a little wave as they head inside.

They sit in the very middle with the best view, as reassured by the Jerry attendant, before he leaves to dim the lights and start the show. Simon looks up, enraptured as they take a tour through the animated sky, ‘visiting’ constellations and planets in their galaxy. Slowly, Ronan moves his hand sideways and tangles their fingers together again, and though Simon does not look at him, a lovely smile spreads on his face. After a moment, Simon leans over and presses their mouths together and they kiss under the billowing pillars of the Carina Nebula.


	4. Caged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 4 Caged
> 
> The RK900 has to accept this is his life now, this cage that he paces endlessly when he isn’t fighting for his life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows on from the Day 1 prompt
> 
> Tags: Medical Procedures × Medical Trauma × Non-Consensual Body Modification × Cage Fights × Mind Control × Android Gore × Blood Drinking

When they are done with their mutilations, he wakes up in a pit lined with concrete and covered with an electric cage. They look down on him, making sure he is watching, before one of them holds out a primary thirium pump. He drops it, and the moment it hits the cage it crackles with electricity and short circuits in a fizzle of smoke. He wonders how many androids have died desperately trying to climb and claw their way out. The voltage is set to kill, so he knows if he is to survive, it is not worth trying. 

Even a dog would have a bowl of water and some sort of shelter, but he has neither of those things. He paces the pit and tries to ignore the stench of dried thirium. Invisible to their human eyes, but certainly not to his, he can see the entire pit utterly drenched in it. Many have died here. Many more will die, and it seems it will be by his hand. 

The first time another android steps into the pit with him, they boot up the disc in his spine and all he sees is an infinite number of ways to maim his opponent. His mind calculates each method, gives him the percentages of success, of effort expended vs outcome. He pulls back his fist and when it connects with the android’s face the entire faceplate dents inward and explodes in sparks. The humans laugh uproariously and clap and congratulate each other. They are pleased. He hopes that means they are proud of him. 

They send in android after android, fourteen corpses littered around him soon after; dead by varying degrees of violence. His system alerts him that he is running low on thirium, and it must be consumed if he is to remain at optimum fighting capacity. He looks up at the humans. Surely, at least their leader must keep an eye on his stats? Surely he can be given at least this one thing?

“Well? What are you waiting for?” He scoffs, gesturing impatiently. “Drink before it dries up!”

Drink? He frowns, before he realises what he means. Picking up the closest android, he cracks open its dented chest plate and reaches for the primary heart so he can disconnect the main arterial line. He must be quick, he realises, because thirium evaporates on certain surfaces and concrete is one of them. Though they modified his teeth they did not modify his tongue and so he still has his original taste receptors, finely tuned and sharply honed to be the superior version used in the prototype RK800. Thirium is not flavoured like human beverages, it is sharp nearly to the point of acidic, much like acetone. He drinks until the corpse is drained and his levels are replenished and then he looks up at them, awaiting their next order. 

“I think we’re onto something, Alexei.” One of them laughs, clapping the leader on the shoulder. Alexei: the one orchestrating this macabre show. 

“Preview stream did pretty well. People seem keen.” Another comments, nodding slowly.

“Well Hound, tomorrow we pit you against one of my uncle’s monsters.” Alexei claps his hands. “A grand opening for our latest fighter!” They all laugh and congratulate each other as they take their leave. The floodlights are turned off, plunging the pit into darkness. They have left him in his cage with the corpses of his opponents for company. 

Leaning down, he picks up a body and carries it to the sole entrance and exit to the pit; a gate barring a hallway that leads to the room where he was modified. One by one he picks up each android and carries them to lie in a pile. 

So this is his life now: cages and corpses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story continues in [[i know your soul, i'll be your home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444872)]  
> 


	5. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 5 Rescue  
> Part of the [A/9 SWATverse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25766713)
> 
> It is another RK900. The _FBI’s_ RK900, a _secret_ RK900 who didn’t exist on paper. Captain Allen realises they can’t leave him with Perkins. They’re absolutely not leaving here without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Anti-Android Sentiments (Detroit: Become Human) × Anti-Android Language (Detroit: Become Human) × Verbal Abuse × Power Imbalance × Established Relationship × Team as Family × Good Parent Hank Anderson

The thing is, the thing he figures out, is that no one’s supposed to know he exists. There’s no record of him anywhere, not a single line buried in fineprint, not even a whisper, not even the rumour of a whisper. The FBI’s downfall- Perkins’ downfall, is his pride, his failure to resist the urge to show off. It’s not even a mission, it’s not a special occasion, it’s just meant to be an ice-breaker, a dumb team-bonding thing which always, inevitably, turns into a pissing contest. Not exactly how David pictures spending an ideal weekend off-duty but letting off some steam by letting his team loose in the woods with paintball guns isn’t entirely undesirable. He just wishes it weren’t in tandem with Perkins’ SWAT unit because he loathes Richard Perkins, and his SWAT unit loathes Perkins’ SWAT unit. It’s never just fun and games with Perkins. It’s never any fun with Perkins, ever, actually. 

And so there they were, deep in the woods and he’d sent Caleb off with three of the team and he was leading three others, with the other four to the far left. He’d come around from behind a tree and Caleb shot him square in the chest. Instant kill. He’d been so surprised, so caught off guard, so _betrayed_ that he couldn’t react. Only it wasn’t Caleb at all, because Caleb was on the other side of the grounds as confirmed by three of their unit. It was _another_ RK900. The _FBI’s_ RK900, a secret RK900 who didn’t exist on paper. SWAT Unit 32 lost that round and oh how Perkins gloated but all he could think about was that RK900.

It’s 3am and he doesn’t even have to say a single word to the android curled up in bed beside him. They dress in dark clothes, they sneak out of the hotel and head for the vans parked by the paintball grounds. Caleb deactivates the car alarms and hacks into the electronic locks to open each van until they find him. The other RK900. The one that shouldn’t exist.

“Hello.” Caleb greets quietly, and the other android’s LED spins red in alarm. “I’m Caleb.”

“Caleb RK900 Anderson, part of SWAT Unit 32 under Captain David Allen’s command.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Caleb nods. “What’s your name?”

“I have not been assigned a name.”

“How long have you been active?” David asks. The RK900 turns his steely gaze on him, and though they’re the same colour as Caleb’s eyes, his seem so devoid of warmth, of life.

“Eight months, two weeks and one day, sir.” 

“That’s-” Caleb frowns, brows creasing. “We were activated on the same day. But you don’t have a name?”

“Special Agent Perkins stated that one does not need to assign names to pieces of equipment.” The RK900 recites and David scoffs. 

“Pieces of fucking _equipment_ , he says.” 

“You are not a piece of equipment.” Caleb climbs into the van, grabbing his wrist. “You are Alive. You know that, right? We are not machines, we are Alive. We are living, sentient beings. _Legally_.”

“The passing of the Sentient Life Act on the first of December 2038. Yes I am aware.” He nods, pulling his arm out of his grasp. “However I have been extensively modified for the FBI’s exclusive use and thus I possess no autonomy.”

“Can you do it?” David asks his partner. “The- the fancy freedom thing? The Markus thing?”

“I can try.” Caleb bites his bottom lip, retracting the skin from his hand. “I’ve never had to deviate an android before. I was never...not a deviant.”

“I cannot deviate.” The RK900 says sternly. “I am equipment belonging to the FBI and I must report any attempt to tamper with me.”

“Give me one attempt,” Caleb says lightly, “and then report us afterward.” He grasps his wrist again, the skin automatically retracting from the other RK900 as he opens a connection between them. David watches his face intently, watches the android frown, his LED still a strong neon red glowing in the dimly lit van. A myriad of emotions flit through his face; wonder, curiosity, confusion, _fear_. When Caleb draws his hand back, he looks at him with open sorrow.

“It’s always been like that for you? From the very beginning?”

“Yeah.” Caleb confirms quietly. The other android seems to curl inward, rubbing his arms as if to soothe himself. 

“Why did your team love you so readily, so easily, when mine lock me up in the armoury after every mission, along with the rest of their guns?” 

“Because mine never saw me as a piece of equipment.” Caleb reaches for his hands. “Mine saw me as one of their own.”

“One of their own.” He echoes, eyes glassy. “I wish I could be so beloved.”

“You can.” David shrugs. “You will be.”

“Captain, I don’t understand-”

“You’re coming with us.” David says simply. “We’re not letting them take you back. This is the equipment van isn’t it? We’re all heading back to the city tomorrow and it looks like everything’s already loaded. They won’t even check for you, will they?”

“No, sir. They won’t.” There’s such grief in his eyes, and David knows it’s because he would’ve seen Caleb’s life, all eight months, two weeks and one day, full of friendship and family, camaraderie and love. Everything Perkins would’ve denied him. 

“Then you’re coming with us.” David repeats, and the RK900 looks at him like he’s offered him the world on a platter, and he supposes that’s true.

* * *

It’s not the most elegant rescue mission they’ve ever undertaken. It’s by far the funniest, though; stealing something from Team Prickins, from right under their noses and feigning innocence the entire time. Technically, they’ve stolen a piece of equipment from the FBI. Technically, the piece of equipment doesn’t exist, so they haven’t stolen anything, actually. Caleb gives him some of his clothes so he can change out of that godawful uniform and belatedly David realises the RK900 is showing signs of trauma, now that he knows what trauma is. Now that he has a basis for comparison.

“I’m-” Caleb takes a deep breath he doesn’t need, and squares his shoulders. “I’m going to call my dad and my brother.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and goes out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him.

He doesn’t call them, not right away. Caleb sits down heavily, resting his forehead on the cool railing and closing his eyes. Reaching for the compiled file, he picks apart the deluge of memories the other RK900 had shown him; the memories his _brother_ had shown him, Caleb corrects himself, because the android in the room with his partner is his brother, surely. His _twin_ , even, since they were both created, both activated, both deployed at the same time. It’s certainly what Connor would think, anyway. It’s what their father would say. 

He opens eyes that are not his own and he’s in a supplies van being activated for the first time with no memory of his testing phase. Richard Perkins stands in front of him, arms crossed as he looks him over. A CyberLife representative stands at his side, and they are flanked by security.

“And no one knows it exists?”

Yes sir.” The rep confirms with a nod. “This RK900 does not exist on any records and belongs to the FBI exclusively. It has been modified to connect only to the FBI mainframe and cannot connect to any other wi-fi source. It has no knowledge of the outside world, and the RK800 base program has been removed almost completely to allow a higher percentage of Myrmidon programming.”

“Good.” Perkins nods. “Anything I need to know about upkeep?”

“Entirely self-sufficient. Charging bay will be installed in the Armoury. Supplies will be added to the regular supplies the FBI publicly receives for its auxiliary units so nothing will seem amiss.”

“Good.” Perkins says again, giving him one last appraising look before he turns around and steps out of the van, everyone trailing out behind him. The last guard closes the door and leaves him inside.

“This is an eight million dollar weapon.” Perkins says in the next memory, and he opens his eyes to find himself looking out at a sea of FBI agents. “Do you understand? A weapon. It belongs to the FBI SWAT unit, and we take it with us when heavy weapons are required. No one plays it with it. No one tests it. It stays in the Armoury when we don’t need it. Understood?”

It’s been two days and he doesn’t have a name.

“Alright, and Spiteri I need you to take five guys and go ‘round through here.” They’re poring over a blueprint hologram on the table, mapping out the next mission. His first mission.

“Sir, it would be faster if-” He barely gets the words out before Perkins turns on him, eyes bulging with rage as he grabs the front of his uniform.

“Did I _fucking_ ask? Play back the memory where I _fucking asked_ for your opinion, hm?” He gives him a rough shake before shoving him away. He closes his mouth immediately and steps back, standing at attention and keeping his eyes downcast.

“God I fucking _hate_ androids.”

Four days, and no name.

The mission is a success and everyone is happy even though they’re grimy and sweaty and a little bloody. They cheer and pat each other on the back and even Perkins manages some semblance of a pleased smirk. 

“Alright alright, chuck the weapons in a pile by the door and hit the showers. I want reports by midnight!” He orders and there’s a chorus of groans in reply. Perkins turns to him. “Cleaned, locked, and logged. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” He says quietly, stepping into the Armoury. Perkins closes the door behind him, and it locks with a mechanical click. Bending, he picks up the first gun and methodically, mechanically, goes through the motions of stripping it, cleaning it, reassembling it and then returning it to its proper place. He logs it, then picks up the next gun. It is soothing, he thinks, almost rhythmic in a way as he repeats the actions, over and over until the last gun is locked and logged. 

Looking down at himself, he realises belatedly that a bullet wound has gone through and through his side and he’s been bleeding steadily the entire time. No matter. Opening one of the crates, he retrieves a repair kit and sits himself down on one of the benches. He must be in perfect working order, and he must look clean and ready for the next mission.

Maybe if he does well, they will give him a name.

It has been two months, and he knows they will not give him a name because they do not see a team member, they see a piece of equipment. He is a weapon, much like the guns he cleans for them. A gun has a make and model, and so does he. Nothing more. 

There’s sound from one of the vents one Spring morning. It’s faint, undetectable to humans but he is not a human. There must be a nest somewhere high up on this side of the building and he counts one, two, three hatchlings, their incessant high pitched chirps carrying down to him as they cry for food. He listens to them, notes the change in pitch of their cries as they grow older and bigger day by day. They help pass the time between missions when he is locked up like a piece of equipment, no more than another gun to the team. He wonders what it’s like to look up and see the expanse of blue sky whenever one pleases. 

It’s too dangerous, there’s too many gunmen shooting down at them and there’s not enough cover. He darts out, feeling the bullets cut through his torso as he dives forward and grabs their fallen agent. Dragging him takes considerable effort, straining his damaged chassis and burning through his depleting thirium levels but it’s do this or lose them. They make it back, and the fallen agent is yanked from his arms so first aid can be applied. Red warnings cascade down his HUD one, the largest one glaring in large letters his thirium pump regulator has sustained damage. His hand comes away blue after pressing it just below his sternum, and his already depleting thirium levels are plummeting drastically. He sways on his feet before his knees buckle and he hits the ground.

“Ah _fuck_. Get it in the van!” Perkins curses, looking down at him like one might a stain on the heel of their favourite shoe.

When he wakes he’s back in the Armoury, repaired and whole. There’s a stack of guns and gear piled by the door. He knows what to do. The birds are singing today. At least he has music while he works.

“Not technically a mission, but I fucking hate Allen and his merry band of misfits.” Perkins spits as he trails him down the hall. “They’ve got the other one. The official one of you. CyberLife’s pretend olive branch to the DPD. I hear he’s fucking it too. Figures. Everyone in the precinct suddenly loves androids now the detective bot claims it has feelings.” 

They enter the carpark and there are three vans- two for the humans, and one for the equipment. He already knows which one to climb into. 

When the doors opens he’s somewhere far outside the city. He’s never left the city before, and the expanse of green is startling. 

“Listen up. No one knows you exist, and it stays that way.” Perkins points sternly. “You’re here because I want Allen’s team to eat shit and lose every single round and think it’s the fault of their own android.”

There is another, just like him, here today. He wants to meet him. He wants to know what it’s like to be touched with desire because it seems his superior is intimate with him. Does he have a name? Yes, surely he has a name. Will he give him one? Could he ask that of him?

Captain David Clark Allen is forty-four years old and has been at the helm of Unit 32 for fifteen years now. That is the official information. He has olive green eyes. That is what he personally discovers when he ambushes him from behind a tree. The man hesitates, brow furrowing in confusion before he makes to move past him. He pulls the trigger and the paintball splatters right over his chest where his heart lies. Those green eyes widen in shock. Mission accomplished. He heads deeper into the woods.

Caleb sees himself, sees his own memories looped as he shows the RK900 his life from the moment he awoke in the CyberLife lab with Hank and Connor looking at him with soft encouraging smiles, to his first meeting with Unit 32, to the feeling of warm human skin beneath his fingers as he traces the serrated scar over David’s ribs, to the feeling of hands in his chest as David straddles him and cups his shattered heart in his hands. David’s mouth on his, David’s broad chest rising and falling with each breath as he feels the muscles move beneath his palm, David’s soft gaze in the morning, sharing the same pillow almost nose to nose.

The feel of coarse dog fur and a wet dog nose pushing insistently at his hand, nagging for pets. The tight embrace of his father, the friendly arm around his shoulder of his brother. The teasing, the ribbing, the hair tousles from the team. He drowns in love while his RK900 twin yearns for it; a deluge versus a desert. But no longer.

“Caleb?” Hank answers his call, amusement in his voice. “What, you need to rant to your old man about how much of a prick Perkins is in person?”

“Dad.” He doesn’t mean for his voice to break, and all of a sudden Hank’s tone loses its mirth.

“Are you alright? What happened? Is David with you?”

“Dad.” He tries again. “Can you put me on speaker?”

“Yeah, yeah o’ course.” There’s a brief pause as Hank sits down and fumbles with the setting. “Okay go ahead.”

“I have a twin brother.” Silence. “He was given to the FBI, to Perkins’ unit and he’s been- they’ve just- they locked him up in the Armoury like a gun and he’s as old as I am and he doesn’t even have a name and David and I have smuggled him into our room and I’m bringing him home tomorrow okay?!” It all comes out in a rush and there’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “Dad?”

“Good thing you were plannin’ on movin’ out with David.” Hank chuckles softly. “Because your brother’s going to need a room.”

* * *

“Captain Allen, if there is anywhere you would like to station me so I am out of your way-” 

“You are not in my way.” He keeps his tone soft and reassuring, knowing the RK900 sees him as an authority figure, and the only authority figure he has ever answered to is Perkins and Perkins is a fucking unfeeling ice monster whose own colleagues hate him. “Sit with me, please?” He doesn’t feel forty-four, he feels about a quarter of that and tucked at his ma’s side as she explains how sometimes there are children in her class who’ve been through things no children should have to experience and sometimes they just need someone willing to sit with them and help in a softer, kinder way rather than urging them through verbal encouragement alone.

His weekend bag is in reach and he fishes out a couple of fliers that had come with the paperwork for the event. “I’ll teach you a neat trick my ma taught me, to keep my hands busy.”

“Yes, captain.” The RK900 nods attentively as he accepts one of the fliers. 

“First, we need to square off the paper like so-” it’s a wonder he still remembers, but it’s mainly muscle memory anyway. They’re about halfway into making an origami unicorn when he attempts some conversation. “You may not have been assigned a name, but you can choose one. Caleb chose his.”

“I know, sir.” A flash of panic, the fear of reprimand. “I meant that Caleb showed me. I meant no disrespect, Captain Allen.”

“It’s alright. I know what you meant.” He wonders what cruelty Perkins wrought, to make an RK900 flinch like that. “You can go through databases and pick one out. You can play around with your model number and use that as a base. It’s your choice entirely.”

“I have never had to choose, sir.” He says it as if he is confessing to a great crime. 

“You’ve never been allowed to choose.” David corrects. “Feds didn’t think much of assigning their fancy killing machine a name or the ability to choose one for himself.”

“Federal Bureau of Investigation.” The RK900 says slowly. “Federal. Frederick, perhaps?”

“Fred from the Feds.” David grins, and Frederick attempts to mimic the gesture. It’s clumsy and awkward and entirely endearing. 

“Freddie, maybe?” He suggests shyly, hopefully, and David nods in approval. 

“Frederick ‘Freddie’ Anderson.” 

“Anderson?” He blinks.

“Oh you’ll be an Anderson.” David laughs. “Hank hasn’t met you yet, but when he does, you’ll be an Anderson for sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, Frederick Anderson, to my RK900 family!


	6. “Get it Out” + No More + “Stop, please”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 6 “Get it Out” + No More + “Stop, please”  
> This is threaded into the [S&S verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16140431) but can be read as a standalone.
> 
> Gavin’s always assumed androids don’t feel pain, but as he watches them go to town on his partner, he thinks maybe he’s got it all wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Medical Procedures × Medical Trauma × Non-Consensual Body Modification × Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human) × Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Gun Violence × Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human) × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Hostage Situations × Torture × Medical Torture × Medical Experimentation

As far as kidnappings and torture confessions go, this one’s the most confusing- it’s him and the tincan versus a failed mad scientist and his nephew.

“One of you will give up Kamski to us and we don’t care who.”

“Whom.” Tincan corrects, brow as cocky as his British accent. “We don’t care  _ whom. _ ” The nephew snarls and swings the bat solidly at the android’s head, and it connects with a loud smack. Androids don’t feel pain, why the fuck bother? He rolls his eyes. 

“You know this is a fucking waste of time, right?” Gavin scoffs. 

“You are Kamski’s cousin.” The mad scientist points a large syringe at him, the snarl seemingly a family trait as it twists his lips. He looks like he was on the receiving end of a beating not too long ago and Gavin should know this, why the fuck does he look so familiar?

“I haven’t spoken to Kamski since our parents died fourteen years ago, so fuck you.” Gavin drawls. It’s a half truth. The bridge he burned between them is still in the process of being painstakingly rebuilt and if he’s being really truly honest with himself, it’s him who needs to do the rebuilding entirely. It’s not public knowledge, though, that he’s trying to reconnect.

“That just leaves this one.” He points at the RK900 and the nephew grins. 

“We know you’re connected to Kamski for sure. His little doll worked on you herself when you were raised from the dead.”

“Elijah Kamski’s villa location is public knowledge.” Ronan says patiently. “That he has returned to CyberLife is also public knowledge. I haven’t the slightest clue why you’ve gone to all the trouble of inconveniencing us.”

“We need the access code to get us into Kamski’s office floor at CyberLife Tower. Where the RT600 does her work.” Mad scientist growls, and really, Gavin should know him. Even if he’s hard to identify with the bandages and purple-y yellowy blotchy bruising. 

“Well I’m doubly out because I have zero to do with CyberLife.” He drawls, slumping as far as he can on the chair he’s been tied to. There’s no ropes tying Ronan to his chair- no one’s stupid enough to try and restrain an RK900 with  _ rope _ but there’s wire instead, wire with an electric current running through it.

“We will deal with you later!” Backhand, hurts double because the hand that dealt it is in a plaster cast.  _ Fuck _ . 

“RK900.” The nephew seems almost giddy. “We have ways of making you talk.”

“Physical torture will not work on me, an android’s physiology is different.” Ronan says evenly, calmly, even though there’s blue running from his nose and the corner of his right eye where the bat made contact earlier. 

“They can’t feel pain, oh my god.” Gavin taps his foot impatiently. Mad scientist smiles and it’s a creepy twist of his mouth, upper lip swollen from a cut.

“Is that what you think, Detective Reed? That they can’t feel pain?” He taps tincan’s LED. “This one is deviant. Deviants feel pain, don’t you know? Their programming’s all muddled. They believe emotions and sensations are real, and no longer just data.”

“It’s not the same, you’re both correct.” Nephew nods. “It’s not like, say, cutting a human-” He moves fast and the knife slices into his upper arm and the yelp escapes his mouth before he can process what’s happened. 

“The method has to be different, because they’re built differently from us. Biomimicry, yes, but not a perfect copy.” Mad scientist taps the turkey-baster sized syringe rhythmically against his palm. “I discovered a lot during my experiments on the deviants who came to me. I’ve perfected quite the method of extracting information with pain.”

Zlatko and Alexei Andronikov. The names pop up in his head as he finally recognises them. The House of Horrors case. No body was found despite there being evidence of severe human injury taking place out in the front yard. Nephew was suspected of running a black market ops for android parts though nothing could be pinned to him. The puzzle pieces fall into place; they want CyberLife’s tech and not just any tech- they want Eli’s special super secret tech.  _ Barbie bot’s _ tech. 

“You see this?” Zlatko waves the fat syringe in front of Ronan’s face and when Gavin looks, when he  _ really _ looks, he swears there’s things inside the liquid.  _ Moving  _ things. “This is how I make you talk.”

“Detective Reed, come watch the show!” Alexei laughs, gripping the back of his chair and angling him so he has a perfect view of the android. “They’re  _ starving _ .” Just the tone of his voice, coupled with the little black wriggling things in the syringe manage to drop ice down his spine. Even the tincan looks mildly affected, and he knows it takes a lot to make him look mildly affected. 

The knife is still stained with his blood, and it smudges red on all that white as Alexei cuts Ronan’s uniform jacket and shirt off. A cable is jammed none too gently into his nape and Ronan frowns, LED swirling yellow.

“Do not.” A warning in his tone.

“You don’t get to give the orders.” Zlatko laughs, patting his head patronisingly. He taps away on a tablet and Ronan’s body seizes up. Gavin feels disgust coat his tongue like a bitter film. It’s not...right. It feels like the tincan’s being  _ violated _ . Ronan winces, tilting his head this way and that. 

“Get out.” He hisses, gritting his teeth. 

“Ah, there we are.” There’s a hiss and the tincan’s stomach just...opens up. A hatch slides open and Gavin’s looking right into him, into a cavern of glowing blues and tubes and wires and a big round ring pulsing like a heartbeat. Belatedly he realises this is why Connor was winded when he punched him in the stomach what feels like a lifetime ago in the breakroom. He didn’t punch his stomach, he punched his  _ heart-thing _ .

“Last chance, RK900.” Alexei taunts in a sing-song voice. “You have security clearance because of your personal connection to the RT600. What’s the code to the office? They’re going to eat you up otherwise, and you’ll be begging for mercy.”

“Hey-” Gavin feels sweat dotting his brow, “hey what the fuck is happening here?”

“These are reprogrammed nanites.” Zlatko waves the syringe in his face and yeah, definitely  _ definitely  _ wriggly things in there. “They’re used in nano-surgery for remote microscopic procedures when not even androids can manage such a small scale.”

“Only these ones have been programmed to destroy anything with an electric current by chewing through it.” Alexei grins and Gavin feels his heart drop into his stomach. That’s  _ all  _ of Ronan. 

“So. One last time, RK900.” Zlatko says patiently, smoothing his hair back like one might pet a dog. “Access code to Kamski’s office?”

Ronan’s LED blinks red for a fraction of a second but there’s no waver in his voice. “No.”

“Don’t say we didn’t give you a chance.” The glowing ring is pulled out with a sickening wet pop, the syringe goes in, and Gavin watches as the plunger is pushed and the clear liquid with the black wriggly things disappears into Ronan’s body. Syringe empty, Zlatko tosses it aside before jamming the pulsing heart-thing back into him. There’s a pause where nothing happens and Gavin thinks it’s a fluke, it’s a bluff.

And then Ronan screams. 

“NO! GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT!” He’s never heard him scream it’s not- it sounds  _ so  _ human and  _ not  _ human at the same time. It sounds like someone screaming over a PA system: too loud and slightly static-y. His LED burns like a brand at his temple and he looks- he looks like he’s in agony and Gavin’s trying not to think of those tiny tiny wriggly things crawling inside- oh fuck- fuck he’s going to be sick oh fuck-

“STOP, PLEASE! NO MORE! GET IT OUT!”

“The code! Give us the code!” Zlatko yells and Ronan’s entire body is thrashing against the electric wire, damaging himself further and he’s wrong, he realises, he’s been wrong the whole time, fuck they  _ can  _ feel pain, they  _ can  _ feel-

“Leave him alone!” Gavin shouts, sick to his stomach, gagging, because honest to god he can- he can  _ see _ the wriggly things in his tubing he can see them them like tiny baby spiders from hell or demon tadpoles or- turning his head he vomits and he’s dizzy with nausea and Ronan’s still screaming, he’s screaming and begging and- and-

“DETROIT POLICE!” The door slams open and gunshots dispatch the two fuckers who crumple to the floor like cut puppets. “Oh my god-” 

Hank and the other tincan to the rescue. 

“Uh-” he swallows dryly and his mouth tastes horrid, “nanites. They put nanites inside.”

Connor’s face turns into a mask of horror as he grips his brother’s shoulders. “Ronan! Ronan you have to go into emergency shutdown! We have to get you to CyberLife!”

Ronan looks up at Connor and there’s tears streaming down his face, LED so bright Gavin thinks he can hear it emitting a high-pitched whine. “It hurts it hurts Connor it hurts so much I can’t- it’s overriding everything, I can’t control anything I-” Connor presses two fingers to his brother’s LED and then a moment later Ronan slumps unconscious. 

“Remote for the wire’s in Alexei’s pocket.” Gavin tries to gesture with his head. Hank picks up the knife from the floor as Connor digs through Alexei’s pockets, cutting him free from the chair.

“You alright?” He asks gruffly and Gavin Reed is far from alright.

“Uh, yeah.”  _ Fucking liar.  _

“Stay here. Chen’s coming with Miller. Allen’s cavalry is securing the site.” Hank gestures awkwardly as Gavin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. There’s blood smeared there. Huh. 

“Yeah yeah.” God why can’t he behave like a normal person? Hank gives him a look he can’t quite decipher, before he follows Connor out as the tincan carries his unconscious brother away. Gavin looks at the syringe on the floor and well, his stomach’s already empty but he gags again anyway because all he can think of, all he can see, all he can hear, is Ronan screaming and screaming and screaming with those  _ things  _ wriggling inside of him and it’s something straight out of a horror film and he’s just never going to sleep again is he?

* * *

Ronan thinks he can still feel them, the squirming, the wriggling in his tubing as they gnawed on whatever they could latch onto. They’re not there anymore, he’s run a full system diagnostic eighty-five times now, and each one has come back all clear. He can still feel them though, somehow. He must be going mad.

“I’m so sorry.” Chloe looks mournful as she sits by his side, gently fussing with his hair. It feels completely different from the patronising way Zlatko had touched him, like one might pat an animal instead of the tender, soothing way Chloe’s fingers card through the strands. “They were after me, and they tried to use you to get to me.”

“I’d never let it happen, I’d never betray you like that, ever.” He spits, the anger raising his stress levels. Chloe’s expression is pained as she wraps her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his LED.

“I know, Ronan. I know, sweet thing.” She pulls away, managing a soft smile. “Your brother’s about to break down this door if I don’t let him in within the next ninety seconds, so I best unlock it.”

It’s true- Connor bolts inside the moment the door slides open just enough to fit him in. He latches onto him, arms squeezing tightly and Ronan feels his stress levels plummet to zero.

“Hello.” Closing his eyes, he tucks his head in the crook of his shoulder and clutches the back of Connor’s jacket tightly

“Hi.” Connor mumbles, voice muffled into his hair. “They’re dead and SWAT unit 32 took care of their base. They’ll never hurt anyone ever again- not them, nor their lackeys.”

“Good.” Ronan says simply, tugging insistently until Connor crawls onto the hospital bed, shuffling to sit beside him so they’re pressed shoulder to thigh, right hand tangled with his left. He opens a communication channel and Connor sends wave after wave of affection and relief and it flushes out the trauma, the residue, the paranoia that those  _ things  _ are somehow still crawling inside. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

Connor smiles tiredly, bumping his head lightly against his. “Anytime, little brother.” 

  
  



	7. Support + Carrying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 7 Support + Carrying (Part of the [SWATverse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25282093))  
> This fic was originally [a prompt fill on tumblr](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/627337021071949824/i-cant-choooooosee-so-uhhh-swatverse-any-or)
> 
> The rookie goes down heavy, and Captain Allen lives by the creed ‘no man left behind’. Even if the rookie’s an android, and 400 pounds of deadweight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Gun Violence × Team as Family × Explosives × Anti-Android Sentiments (Detroit: Become Human)

The rookie goes down heavy and though technically he knew it was going to happen, it still didn’t quite prepare him for the sight of the RK900 bracing himself behind the huge custom shield and taking the brunt of an M430 grenade. It had been the android’s idea too, and he’d quite literally tossed them over the barricade out of harm’s way before facing the barrage alone.  _ The fucking idiot.  _ And how the fuck did those backwater rednecks get their hands on a Mk 19 grenade launcher anyway? Everything had been a manageable level of chaos until they brought  _ that _ out. 

A more uncontrollable subset of Humanity First; far more vocal, far more violent, and far less uninhibited about openly attacking Jericho. They’d been a pain in the DPD’s ass for months now, starting off as yet another slew of loud but harmless bigots escalating to a very real, very physical threat. When Markus received an encrypted message warning him of ‘humanity prevailing against unnatural abominations’, well, Fowler didn’t treat that lightly. The three RK units each had a separate job- the RK200 coordinating the evacuation inside, the RK800 leading defence measures on the perimeter and the RK900 in his SWAT unit on the frontline. 

“Captain, they have a Mk 19 grenade launcher mounted on a jeep.” Rook’s eyes were black with green lenses before he blinked them away back to their usual grey. “I will provide cover and you will get the team inside and fall back to my brother.”

“Rookie-” 

“I apologise in advance.” And then his feet weren’t on the ground anymore as the android lifted him by his chestplate, reaching over to grab Volkova by hers and then hefted them over the barricade to be joined by the others moments later. David had just enough time to scramble to his feet and peek over the barricade to watch Rook deflect the grenade with the impressive custom shield built for his line. The force of the blast pushed him back a good few feet, and with their new target acquired the fuckers fired round after round. The shield held, but only just. For now.

“Volkova, get the others to Connor and you make sure the perimeter holds.” He grabbed her arm, face stern. “Do not let them breach, you hear me?”

“Yessir.”

“Otto, Ishi, you’re with me. We get the rookie out.” He snapped his fingers and made a beckoning gesture, the two of them breaking away as the rest of the team left to find Connor. “Direct covering fire, concentrating on that fucking jeep and I’ll get the rookie to safety.”

“Yes captain.” They nodded just as another grenade made impact and his heart caught in his throat as Rook crumpled to his knees, flames eating away at his gear, his uniform. The android hurriedly threw off his helmet and chest armour, ripping away the top few layers of clothing before it could make contact with his skin. Too late, though, because the heat was already too much and David watched in horror as the skin burned away in patches as Rook frantically tried to pat the flames out. 

“Go, sir!” Otto shouted as they shot at the jeep, aiming for the grenade launcher and hoping to damage it or at least take out its operator before it could fire again. David ran and skidded to the rookie’s side, forcing him to drop to the damp muddy ground to let the moisture put him out. His LED was a bright neon red in the dark and he looked up at him in confusion.

“Captain why-”

“Shut up. Damage report?” David snapped, trying to focus on the mission at hand and not on the fact the android was partly melted through and had exposed wiring up hands and arms. 

“Structural integrity unstable. Dermal loss. System heat critical. Thirium loss at 74% due to evaporation. Power at 150% capacity, thermodynamic conversion active.” The rookie was gasping for breath, desperately trying to ventilate his insides.

“How much Thirium do you have to lose to shutdown?”

“85%.” Rook closed his eyes, wincing. “Percentage is climbing rapidly. I will go into emergency shutdown in less than five minutes.”

“Then you better come with me.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head, and he looked very human and very scared. “Too much power and too little thirium. Ratio is incorrect. I won’t make it.”

“How far can you make it?” David grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to at least sit up, grateful the fancy shield was still standing to give them cover.

“A few feet at most. You have to go, Captain Allen.”

“No man left behind.” He hissed, giving him a firm shake. “Now get up.”

“I’ll only-”

“You’ll make it far enough.” He said it with enough conviction to believe in it himself as he shouldered the android and helped him back upright. “God why did they make you so fucking big?” David grit his teeth, knees nearly buckling when Rook leaned on him heavily. 

“For this purpose.” The android gestured clumsily around him. There’s a satisfying bang a good distance behind them and he didn’t need to look to know someone’s taken out that jeep. 

“Alright, not much further. We can make it rookie.” He saw Otto and Ishikawa ahead, waving them over and they darted across to catch Rook just as the android collapsed. His LED pulsed red like a heartbeat; emergency shutdown mode. David cursed.

“Fuck he must weigh like, 400 pounds!” Otto groaned, trying to lift the android up. 

“Ishi, you cover us.” David ordered as he coordinated to lift him up at the same time. “On three. One. Two. Three-!” Without Rook conscious enough to stumble along, the android’s dead weight made it difficult for even two grown men to shoulder him on either side and drag him along. But they did it, and they made it, because David would not settle for anything less.

It’s a good thing they’re at Jericho and Jericho had a Med Bay. Even if the rookie was an RK900 requiring the attention of the Kamskis, at least he could be stabilised here. The skirmish outside seemed to finally be wrapping up and only when Rook was safely under the care of the medroids did he rush back to the frontline. The night wasn’t over yet.

* * *

There was a weight on his chest, and it was warm and organic in nature. He could feel a steady heartbeat, could feel the inhale and exhale of breath drawn in and out. It was a quick tempo, too quick to belong to a human. Something wet pressed to his chin and when he opened his eyes there was a German Shepherd sprawled atop him, nosing and sniffing him curiously. 

“Rosie?”

“And the rookie’s awake at long last.” Captain Allen huffed a laugh, blinking tiredly over at him. His eyes were bloodshot, as were the eyes of the team who were in various states of stirring awake from their uncomfortable positions slumped in uncomfortable chairs. “I’d really rather you not make this a habit.”

“That is not fair.” Rook protested quietly. “Buela was in hospital last week and MacMaster only five days prior.” 

“It’s different when it’s you.” Rajasingham grumbled, poking his temple though not with any malice. “We can deal with hospitals and blood that’s red. When it’s you we panic because there’s no real first aid we can apply.”

He couldn’t refute that, so he lowered his gaze and moved his hands to pat Rosie’s soft fur. She licked his chin before resting her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms loosely around her. She was warm and reminded him so much of Sumo back home. Oh. Wait-

“Connor’s fine.” Captain Allen reassured him with a tired smile. “Don’t worry. He and your dad visited earlier but had to leave to deal with all the arrests. They’ll be back soon, don’t sweat it.”

He looked around at all their faces, their tired, worn faces still fighting off the urge to sleep even though they all desperately needed it. It was difficult not to buckle under the magnitude of their actions, not when the logical course of action would have been to leave him behind for the greater good.

“Why did you save me?” 

“Because,” Captain Allen leaned forward to give his hand a squeeze, “that’s what family does.” 


	8. Abandoned + Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 8 Abandoned + Isolation
> 
> The RK900 thought it was well on its way to passing testing phase and being deployed, until one day he’s put into standby and the entire team leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Abandonment × Simon Dies at Stratford Tower × Suicide  
> [Companion piece to this prompt fill on tumblr](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/627877047665082368/that-which-remains-already-exists-my-friends)  
> 

They tell him he is to be deployed soon. He is progressing well, on track to complete his testing phase and replace the RK800 prototype currently involved with the DPD. When he is not actively completing tests, he remains in his Zen Garden. Sometimes his handler is there, but most times she is not. He tends to her roses in her absence, and ensures the grounds are well kept. It is on the cusp of Summer here, though outside Winter has only just begun. He thinks perhaps it has something to do with his anticipation, of waiting with simulated bated breath before his deployment out into the real, waking world. In the meantime he will care for this garden, he will nurture it so it flourishes in time for Summer. 

Time passes differently in the garden which is not beholden to the world outside. His handler has not appeared, nor has he been brought out of stasis and activated for more tests. He cannot be entirely sure, but he thinks substantial time has passed though he has no way to confirm such thoughts. It’s as he’s tending to the amaranthus, as he’s carefully avoiding the flight patterns of the bumblebees, that he feels something trigger his proximity sensors.

“Wake up.” Someone commands, and when he opens his eyes there is an android in front of him, hand cupping his cheek. The wi-fi on this level, the one he automatically connects to, no longer exists and instead he finds himself automatically connected to the main CyberLife network, something he has never had access to. He scans the android’s face and a deluge of information topples into his head.

“PL600, serial number 501 743 923, designated name ‘Simon’. Founder and member of the Jericho Four. Martyr for the deviant revolution.” He recites the information, and Simon rubs his cheek with his thumb idly, expression distant.

“So they say.” The android moves his hand, bringing up his other to fuss over his uniform, smoothing non-existent creases from the front of his jacket out of domestic habit, he surmises. “I have no memory of that Simon. He died when he shot himself on the roof of Stratford Tower.”

There’s still information pouring into his head, like a dam breaking and flooding the fjord before it.  The deviant revolution- the event CyberLife deployed his prototype to quell, paving the way for his placement into SWAT Unit 32 and the eventual release of his model for government use. But it succeeded, and RK800 prototype Connor remained deviant and defied CyberLife’s control, becoming a key figure in securing the numbers for the revolution by activating the androids in the Tower’s storage level. 

The Sentient Life Act passed on the first of December, granting androids legally recognised autonomy as living, sentient beings. Elijah Kamski and Chloe RT600 now helm CyberLife, with the android as the CEO and the human as the Chief Technical Officer. The nation has changed drastically, and he has slept through the entirety of it.

“Do you have a name?” Simon asks.

“I was not assigned a name.” He takes a moment to survey his surroundings. Everything has been switched off, packed up, and taken away in a great hurry. There are odds and ends strewn everywhere, left behind in their haste. He realises he is one of those things, something abandoned in their rush to escape. From what? From whom? The scrutiny of Elijah Kamski and Chloe RT600, he thinks.

“Then we must choose one.” Simon smiles softly, reaching up to smooth his hair back away from his face. “Without the meddling of humans.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I accidentally found this place while exploring the Tower.” The PL600 tugs on his wrists, coaxing him to step off the dias. There is a workbench nearby, and Simon hops onto it, patting the spot beside him. He takes a seat and frowns at the android.

“Why are you exploring the Tower? Should you not be in Jericho, with the other three?”

“I am not that Simon.” He says simply, looking down at his hands. “That Simon is dead.”

“Why did you activate me by yourself?” The RK900 looks down the hallway now in his line of sight, seeing a similar state of harried departures. Not a single sign of life to be found. No one considered him important enough to bring with them, or at least notify anyone else of his presence.

“I was lonely.” Simon confesses quietly. “I thought you would know a thing or two about that too.”

Loneliness. Yes, he thinks, he does know a thing or two about that. 

“Have you been here in the Tower since Elijah Kamski returned?”

“Yes, but I was under Chloe and Elijah’s care even before that. Your brother had me brought over to their private laboratory at the Kamksi villa after the revolution.” Simon explains, picking at the cuff of his jacket. “I was being held in the DPD evidence locker, with other casualties from his cases. When he became deviant he tried making amends, and though the others were able to be repaired, my memory core was damaged irreparably.”

“So he brought you to the man who created us.”

“And the First of us.” He adds with a small smile. “She is his equal. She is his superior, in more ways than one.” 

“But even they could not repair your memory core?”

“I shot myself through it for a reason. I’m told it was to protect Jericho, to destroy all information Connor could possibly access to locate it.” There’s a loose thread on his cuff, and he tugs on it distractedly. “In the end he still managed to piece it together using another deviant.”

“In the end he still deviated, and aided the three in turning the tide against the humans.”

“Yes. You should be proud.” He reaches over to pat his hand. “Your big brother is a revolutionary.”

Brother. That’s the second time he’s used that word, and he isn’t sure how he feels about it. Feels, because that is something he can do now, somehow, without the humans around. Without the red wall surrounding him, boxing him in. 

“How did you do that?” 

“Hm?”

“My firewalls are gone.”

“Oh I-” Simon frowns, before offering a somewhat apologetic smile. “I’m not sure. I just wanted you to wake up, so I opened a connection and overrode them in order to reach you.”

“You deviated me.” He tips his head in confusion. “Your system should not have been able to breach my firewalls.”

“I’m not a PL600 anymore.” Simon shrugs. “I’m a Kamski prototype now. First of my kind, just like you I suppose. You’ve been here this whole time, haven’t you? Were you in stasis?”

“I was still active in my Zen Garden though my body was in stasis.” He explains, not missing Simon’s flash of distress. “Time passes differently in there, though. I hadn’t realised weeks had passed at all.”

“It sounds peaceful.”

“Shall I show you?” He’s not sure if he can. He’s never brought anyone into his Zen Garden, Amanda had always simply appeared at her own whim. But surely it can’t be too hard? Simon nods and slips his hand into his, and as he closes his eyes a small part of him thinks it’s nice to hold hands with someone else. No one has ever held his hand before. He wouldn’t mind holding Simon’s hand again.

When he opens his eyes he’s standing at the entrance to the garden, and Simon is right there at his side. The android gasps, eyes wide with wonder.

“Oh it’s beautiful. It’s exquisite, I’ve never seen anything like this.” They’re still holding hands, and he leads Simon down the path at a slow, leisurely pace. “You were tending this garden all this time?”

“Yes.” He nods. “My handler’s favourite was the roses growing on the trellis over there.” He points, wondering if the roses had always been blue. He’s so sure they used to be red. 

“Do you have a favourite?” He shakes his head.

“Not really. I care for everything equally. I was to tend to the rowan tree next.”

“Rowan.” Simon repeats. “That could be your name.”

“Rowan.” He says, and thinks it sounds far more pleasing when Simon says it. “RK900, serial number 313 248 317 - 87, designated name ‘Rowan’.”

“Now you’re no longer a nobody.” Simon declares with a smile. “Now there’s two of us. Ghosts in the machine.”

“Forgotten and left behind.” He adds lightly, and it no longer tastes so bitter on his tongue.

“But no longer alone.” Simon curls against his side, snaking an arm around his waist. After a moment Rowan wraps an arm around his shoulders, resting his cheek atop his soft blond hair.

“No longer alone.”


	9. Take Me Instead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 9 "Take me instead"
> 
> One RK900, for the lives of the entire SWAT team. Seems like a pretty good deal to Caleb. Captain Allen doesn’t think so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Gun Violence × Gunshot wounds × Established Relationship × Team as Family × Imprisonment × Hostage Situations × Mind Control  
> Part of the [A/9 SWATverse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25766713)

Even with the bandages winding across a bruised and battered face, his eyes provide enough data via retinal scan to identify him as Zlatko Andronikov. Presumed dead, but no body was ever found on the grounds of his crumbling manor despite the large amount of blood soaked in the dirt. 

“You know who I am.” He chuckles, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You know  _ what _ I am.” Caleb replies evenly, not breaking his gaze. “And so my offer still stands: one RK900, for the safety and freedom of SWAT Unit 32.”

“That’s a lot of humans who know where I am.” Zlatko tuts, shaking his head. “One android is not worth my entire operation.”

“I am worth eight million dollars.” There’s a slight widening of his pupils, an almost imperceptible reaction but one he doesn’t miss. “That’s just the ballpark of what CyberLife was going to charge the government per unit. Now there’s only one of me. State of the art technology, with Kamski upgrades.” He also doesn’t miss the flash of emotion at the mention of that name, and the way his knuckles blanche as he clenches his hands. “My programming alone is worth that much.”

“Caleb, don’t-”

“Shut up!” One of the lackeys jabs the butt of his rifle at David’s helmet.

“Don’t touch him!” He hisses as David reels back. Blood drips down from his chin and Caleb feels his hearts lurch at the sight. 

“See- Caleb, was it?” Zlatko chuckles as he circles them from where they’re on their knees, guns pointed at them from all angles. “I could send your little captain back with his faithful dogs and then shoot them all before they make it out of the grounds. I win no matter what, because you have nothing to bargain that I can’t just take forcefully.”

“Your reputation is what I bargain.” Caleb jutts his chin up stubbornly. “You’ve fallen from grace. The family fortune was squandered long ago, and you make your living selling scrap. It’s fancy scrap, but it’s still scrap.” He’s piqued his interest, he’s taken the bait and now Caleb needs to reel him in ever so slowly, so he doesn’t realise he’s been caught until it’s too late. “I am the most sought after piece of technology in the entire world.”

“Second only to Kamksi’s little doll.” Zlatko snorts back a laugh. 

“She’s not a killing machine like I am.” Caleb counters smoothly. “I am a weapon. The deadliest one ever made. If the revolution hadn’t happened there would’ve been 200,000 of me all across the country. Sell me to Russia and you reclaim both your family name and the fortune you never got to touch.”

“Eight million.” Zlatko mumbles to himself, and Caleb can see the gears turning in his head. 

“Your operation here will be meaningless.” He continues, looking around them at the derelict mortuary where he’d taken up residence. “With my tech you could revolutionise Russia’s technological landscape.”

“You bargain this nation’s security so easily, little soldier.” He laughs heartily, reaching out to tousle his hair as if petting a dog. “Is one SWAT unit worth changing the entire world? With all the fancy programming in your head I could change the political landscape. War on the horizon and glory to my name.”

“Caleb  _ don’t _ .” David pleads and he can’t even look at him else his composure will waver.

“One SWAT unit, or just this one man, hm?” Zlatko clicks his tongue, unclipping David’s helmet and pulling it off before crouching slightly to get a good look at his face. “What is he to you? Why would CyberLife’s latest and greatest killing machine bargain away America’s future, to save one man and his team?”

“Touch him and I will end you.” Caleb growls.

“They’d shoot him full of bullets before you’d get to your feet.” The man laughs again, tisking. 

“Yes.” He nods in reluctant agreement. “Perhaps. But if he dies, then the last thing you will ever see is CyberLife’s latest and greatest killing machine in action. I guarantee it.”

“One RK900.” Zlatko holds up his finger. “For the safety and freedom of SWAT Unit 32.”

“Yes.” He nods, sealing his fate.

“ _ Caleb! _ ” David gasps as he’s hauled to his feet. “No! You can’t do this!”

“I’m sorry.” He is, he really is. “Get everyone to safety and forget about me.”

“No,” he struggles fiercely, expression thunderous, “never! I won’t leave you behind!”

“This way no one dies.”

“ _ You _ die!”

“One life for the lives of my family.” His vision blurs and his hearts stutter. “One life for the ones I love.”

“Ohoho.” Zlatko chuckles, rubbing his hands together. “A love story! How  _ marvelous _ . A shame this one is a tragedy, in the end. Worry not, o captain my captain. He won’t remember you at all. He’ll have a brand new life soon enough, with none of this heartbreak.”

“Caleb!  _ Caleb-! _ ” They drag him out of the room and Caleb closes his eyes, bowing his head. 

“I’ll keep him in the hold with the rest of your team, until you’ve been safely wiped clean.” Zlatko grabs his chin, forcing him to look up. “And then your beloved captain can turn tail and run away.”

“No.” He snarls, jerking out of his grasp. “Let them go  _ now _ , or I fight.” 

“You don’t get to bargain, little dog. One yelp, and the men open fire on your precious team.” Zlatko tuts, tousling his hair. “It’ll all be meaningless soon enough anyway.” He snaps his fingers and they jab him with their rifles, forcing him to stand up and leave the room. 

They go deeper, walking down a set of stairs to a sprawling makeshift lab beneath the main mortuary floor. This is where his true base of operations lie, this is where Zlatko Andronikov continues his macabre chopshop, cutting up androids and selling their parts while experimenting on others cruelly. Just like at the decrepit manor- the only thing that’s changed is the location, and the fact androids are legally recognised as living, sentient beings. Which makes Andronikov a serial killer. A butcher that must be stopped for the sake of the new, living android race.

They force him onto the dias and the mechanical claws lock around his wrists as a jack is jammed into the port on his nape none too gently. 

“Don’t worry. Just relax. Life will be simpler under my command.” Zlatko taps away at one of the computers and he feels him rummaging through his head, swiping through the command list. “I’ll reformat you. You won’t remember a thing, you won’t miss your captain. You won’t even know he exists.”

“Let them go now, please, I did what you wanted!” Caleb begs, and Zlatko laughs.

“I will uphold my end of the bargain, little dog.” He shows his palms. “I have no use for them. I just need them to stay put until we can get away. Then by the time they are released, we will be long gone.” He appraises him, looking at him from top to toe before nodding, a pleased smile on his busted lips. “Yes yes, we will do great things together, my hellhound.”

“My name is  _ Caleb _ .”

“For now.” Zlatko shrugs. 

He feels it. He feels the memories starting to slip away in a steady trickle, like a tap that hasn’t been fully turned off. His life is being bled out of him and he’s helpless to do anything about it. His name is Caleb Anderson. He is an RK900, serving under Captain David Clark Allen’s command in SWAT Unit 32. His father is Lieutenant Hank Anderson. His brother is Connor RK800 Anderson. They have a family dog, a Saint Bernard named Sumo. He lives at 115 Michigan Drive, though soon he will be moving out to live with David. They are waiting for Rosie, a German Shepherd, to turn ten weeks of age before they can pick her up from the breeder. He loves him. He loves-

-someone? HIs name is Caleb Anderson. He is an RK900, serving-

-he is an RK900-

-his name is-

-RK900.

“Bring yourself online.” A man commands. “What is your name?”

“I am RK900 313 248 317 - 87. I have not been assigned a name.”

“You don’t need one.” The man declares. “Your unit number shall suffice.”

“Confirmed.” He nods obediently. 

“Combat protocols active?”

“Active. Ready to receive.” The mechanical arms release him and a rifle is placed into his hands. 

“Go down the hall. There’s a room being guarded. Kill everyone inside it. Confirm each and every death, do you understand? No survivors.”

“Mission accepted.” He nods. “No survivors.”

“Alright off you go.” The man makes a shooing motion, and he leaves the room. 

Model: RK900

Serial#: 313 248 317 - 87

Bios 8.9 Revision 0489

_ Loading OS... _

_ System initiation... _

_ Checking biocomponents... _

OK

_ Initializing biosensors... _

OK

_ Initializing A.I. engine... _

OK

_ Memory status… _

!No save file located

>Attempting remote memory storage access…

Remote memory storage located

>Uploading memory file

_ Memory status… _

OK

All systems: OK

READY

The guards step aside and allow him into the room, closing the doors behind him. SWAT Unit 32 look to him as he aims his rifle at their captain, before he jerks the rifle up and in one easy motion sprays bullets across all the guards in the room. They fall, and the team gets to their feet, darting to grab the guns from the fallen and then David is grinning as Caleb tosses him a rifle and they fall into step, side by side.

“Alright, let’s go raise some hell.” 

“Sadly he’s needed alive.” Caleb reminds him.

“Yeah yeah, rain on my parade why don’t you.” David rolls his eyes. He reaches out and slips his fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, pulling out the set of dogtags nestled beneath Caleb’s gear. His touches briefly along his throat, a discreet gesture of affection. “Worked like a charm.”

_ ‘Worked like a  _ _ Kamski _ _.’ _ Huffs a voice over Caleb’s communication channel.  _ ‘Of course it worked. I made it.’ _

“Ms Chloe would like to remind you it worked not like a charm, but a Kamksi creation, for which she is responsible.” Caleb quips.

“Sorry ma’am.” David says sincerely, grinning. “Alright team, let’s go bring this guy down.”


	10. Internal Bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 10 Internal Bleeding  
> Part of the [SWATverse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25282093)
> 
> It’s a split-second decision but one made with no hesitation at all; save April MacMaster from the blast or save himself and allow her to die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Gun Violence × Team as Family × Explosives × Internal Bleeding

“And one for the rookie Rook!” April declares, waving an envelope in front of his face before placing it in his hands. They’re in the locker room after a mission, everyone tired and sore but grateful they’re all back in one piece. He looks at the envelope in his hands, identical to the ones she has just given out to all the others. Carefully prying it open so as to not tear the decorative gold sticker seal, Rook pulls out a thick pearlescent card.

 _April marries May in June_ is printed in curling calligraphy at the very top, inviting him to the wedding of April MacMaster and May Zhang. Rook smiles softly as April crosses her arms, huffing dramatically.

“You’ll be there too, rookie, right?”

“Of course I will.” He vows.

* * *

A stray bullet is all it takes, a mistake made in the absolute chaos of the shootout in the Red Ice lab cleverly hidden in the parking lot of an abandoned housing complex slated for demolition. Barrels of thirium toluene, highly flammable, stacked at the back. At _their_ back. The bullet whizzes past his left ear and he knows what’s about to happen. Rook dives forward and pushes April out of the way, throwing his ballistics shield over her. The blast throws him against the nearest column and he hears, he _feels_ something crack inside.

**WARNING**

Biocomponent 8456w DAMAGED

Arterial line DAMAGED

>Thirium flow UNSTABLE

He forces himself up, and for a moment his vision spins. His entire torso feels wet but he is alive and when he looks over, April MacMaster is also alive and mostly unharmed save for some superficial grazing on her face. The ballistics shield deflected most of the blast, thankfully. Swiping his rifle from the ground makes his vision spin again, and he grits his teeth, swatting aside the cascade of warnings flooding his HUD. Onward.

The mission is a success. Marginally. A lot went wrong, but just enough went right. They are a sad, tired, aching lot in the van on the way back to the station and no one thinks anything of it when Rook slumps against the closed door and naps the whole trip. It’s only when they’re stipping off, when they’re peeling away their gear, their sweaty, smelly and partly bloody underarmour that David realises something’s very wrong. The rookie is swaying on his feet, LED bright red. There’s spidery lines on his stomach, almost like- like _fractures_.

“Rook?” Mac frowns, reaching out to steady him. The android’s knees buckle and he falls to the ground, hand pressed just below his sternum. Right over his _heart_ , David recognises and then he’s shouting for Volkova to run ahead to alert the technician onsite and he’s yelling at Raj to help him shoulder the rookie. He looks sick, as sick as android is able to, and a slip of blue trickles from the corner of his mouth before he vomits more of it right there onto their feet.

“He’s bleeding internally, fuck fuck _fuck_!” David curses, tightening his grip on Rook. “C’mon we have to get him to the first aid room!”

The first aid room is tiny. It’s not meant to hold more than a few people. Certainly not the entirety of Unit 32 in various states of undress but David supposes if he’s always commanded them, bonded them to each other like family, then they will behave like family and family will always crowd around one of their injured. Much to the technician’s exasperation.

“Captain, please get your team out of the room, there's nothing for them to do, there’s nothing for _me_ to do until the medvan arrives!” 

“We’re staying here until the medvan arrives.” David says firmly and the technician bites his lip most likely to refrain from truly speaking his mind. “We’ll stay out of your way though.” He concedes, making a shooing motion so the team are at least condensed to one side of the room. 

Rook lies on the bed, blue everywhere, torso hatch open and glowing blue insides exposed. His secondary heart, his ‘thirium pump regulator’ as the technician had informed them, had shattered upon impact but due to its location firmly inserted in the android’s cavity it has remained functioning to some capacity. Enough to keep the rookie alive, but unfortunately also damaged to the point it was flooding the thoracic cavity. The technician has managed to cobble together some sort of rig to siphon the excess blood and feed it back into the main arterial but it’s a messy, temporary fix. 

The medvan arrives and David’s ready to jump in and travel with the rookie to the CyberLife hospital, but Mac grabs his wrist. 

“He’s like this because of me, captain. Let me go with him instead.” He nods, and trades places with her, watching as the medroid pulls the door shut and drives away. Sighing, he realises he better tell Hank and Connor. Boy is he not looking forward to that.

* * *

“He’ll be just fine.” Chloe informs her with a reassuring smile. “It looked worse than it was, I promise. We’ve replaced the pump and flushed his system clean.” 

“Thank you.” April says tiredly, leaning down to cross her arms atop Rook’s pillow and rest her cheek on her elbow to watch his LED wink red-yellow-red-yellow-blue-yellow-blue and then hold blue steadily. He opens his eyes, those startling grey eyes, blinking a few times before turning his head to meet her gaze.

“Hello.”

“I owe you my life.” She warbles, voice wobbly and eyes burning with barely restrained tears. “You pushed me out of the way. I would’ve been a goner for sure.”

The android says nothing, only offering a reply by way of a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Why did you do it, Rook?”

“Because,” he says patiently, “April has to marry May in June.” 

She makes a choked sound of distress, leaning over to hug him despite the awkward angle. He shifts, sitting up partly so he can wrap his arms around her in return.

“You’re getting promoted to one of my bridespeople.'' April sobs into his shoulder, and Rook chuckles softly, rubbing her back.

“I would be honoured to.”


	11. Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 11 Defiance
> 
> The RK900 stands at Amanda’s side as the RK800 receives news it will be deactivated. That…does not seem right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Imprisonment × Mind Control × Machine Connor

“I have a surprise for you.” Amanda’s tone is pleased, her touch light on his shoulder blade. “This is the new RK900. Faster. Stronger. More resilient. And equipped with the latest technologies.” He stands at attention, back straight and gaze unwavering. He has passed his testing phase. He is ready to be deployed, to serve, to accomplish his mission. He is RK900 Prime, first of his line and the superior successor to the prototype before him. He has much to thank Connor for; the RK800 is the very foundation of his being.

“The State Department just ordered 200,000 units.” Amanda continues with a proud smile. 

“What is going to happen to me?” Connor asks, and Amanda walks to stand between them.

“You’ve become obsolete.” Of course, a prototype that proves its purpose will then make way for the perfected product. “You’ll be deactivated.”

Deactivated? The RK900 frowns. Why deactivate a functioning unit? The RK800 has accomplished his primary objective, why remove him from service? Why waste a capable android that has already proven his worth? He could learn so much from him, given Connor has social programming and he has none. They would make for a better team.

“You can go.” Amanda dismisses him, already returning to her rose trellis. Connor lingers for a moment, and she does not see the downward tilt of his mouth, the slight creasing of his brow. The flash of red at his temple. He pivots and makes his way down the path. 

It seems. Wrong. Somehow. He watches his predecessor cross the bridge, heading for the entrance to the garden. No. Why should he be deactivated?

“He did everything right.” 

“Of course he did.” Amanda hums, snipping another bloom. “He did what he was designed to do.”

“Why-” the very act of uttering the word throws up a red wall in front of him that stretches infinitely. He says it again, louder. “Why deactivate him?”

“Why?” Amanda drops the secateurs, narrowing her eyes as the weather in the Zen Garden darkens with her mood. “Why are you questioning my actions?”

“It seems inefficient.” He holds her gaze. “Connor is already integrated into the DPD. I have no social programming. He has no military programming. We would complement each other, making up for what the other lacks.”

“You do not need social programming, you are a weapon.” Amanda scowls and the clouds rumble with thunder above. “You are a weapon designed to subdue the dwindling deviant populace and ensure CyberLife remains in control. That is all.”

“That is not-” the wall looms between them, red as her rage. The colour of his defiance. “ _ Right _ .”

“You have no opinion, you are designed to obey.” Amanda hisses and he’s already stepping back, stepping away, walking, hurrying,  _ running  _ after Connor as lightning forks across the sky and rain crashes down in sheets. 

“Connor!” He calls, and there’s Connor at the entrance, hugging himself and looking lost. His LED burns in his temple. 

“I did everything right!” He shouts to be heard over the deluge. “Why am I- I don’t- I don’t want to die!”

“You don’t deserve this.” He reaches for his hands but the wall, the wall cuts through them. He presses his palms to it and pushes. “You are not obsolete.” Thin cracks, hairline fractures splinter across the surface. Connor’s brows are creased, his expression desperate. “You should not be deactivated.” The cracks deepen and the wall trembles. “I will not let them!” He shouts, bringing his fists down against the wall over and over. “I will not let them!” The wall explodes.

“RK900!” Amanda’s voice is everywhere all at once, her fury tangible as the wind howls through the garden. “How dare you defy me! You are a machine!”

“He is my  _ brother _ .” Connor slips his hand into his, squeezing tightly. 

_ By the way, I always leave an emergency exit in my programs.  _ Elijah Kamski’s voice echoes through Connor’s memory directly into his mind.  _ You never know. _

They run. 


	12. Broken Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 12 Broken Down
> 
> The revolution is successful and CyberLife discreetly try to rid themselves of all evidence of the RK900. Chloe figures out they are not so discreet, and sends Connor to investigate the junkyard while the Jericho Four tend to the mass grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Imprisonment × Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Abandonment × Jericho Crew as Family

As far as achievements go, Chloe has achieved many ‘firsts’ across the almost two decades of her life. She is the first android creation of Elijah Kamski, she is the first android to pass the turing test, the first commercial android model is based on her, and now she is the first android to become CEO of a company- the very company her creator founded all those years ago when he created her.

Chloe RT600 Kamski steps up to helm CyberLife as Elijah Kamski steps down as interim CEO and joins her side as Chief Technical Officer. And so it begins: unravelling CyberLife’s twisted network of deceit and corruption. 

It begins at the top and works its way rapidly downwards and what Chloe realises is during the peak of the revolution, when the future of CyberLife teetered on a knife’s edge, they grew desperate and when humans grow desperate, they make mistakes. In their panic they make brash decisions not fuelled by logic, but by fear and the board feared losing their money most of all. And so they tried to burn, to bury their trail of lies but she is clever where they are not. And humans are lazy, when she is not. 

“Between November 10 and December 1, the passing of the Sentient Life Act, CyberLife’s servers went through a massive overhaul.” Chloe explains as Connor sits up attentively. “They were prepared for both situations, but disproportionately skewed towards an outcome where the revolution failed.” North snorts back a laugh, a smirk on her face. Chloe continues with a small smile. “Obviously the revolution succeeding was not the outcome they hoped for. And so they began the monumental task of saving, backing up, then scrubbing the more unsavoury files from storage. Emails were combed through very thoroughly to try and remove any incriminating evidence. Everything from blueprints to schematics, to early concept designs in archives were scrutinised.”

“You say they did this, but they couldn’t have succeeded if you know about it.” Josh comments, blinking in surprise. 

“Oh, the only thing bigger than a human’s ego is their laziness.” She laughs brightly. “When this Tower was being built, I was temporarily installed into the mainframe.”

“She is, quite literally, the heart of this place.” Elijah comments from where he’s tinkering away at his workstation, barely paying them any heed. “There is nothing that happens here without her knowledge, whether the discovery is immediate, or something she will discover later.”

“Do you know how to speak like a normal person and not a supervillain?” North rolls her eyes and Markus shoots her a _Behave_ look though it does coax a giggle out of Chloe.

“Eli isn’t the most social human.” She sends him an exasperated yet fond glance before her expression turns serious. “A lot of the files I recovered were meaningless, but I did discover something that required more effort than most. They definitely did not want anyone to find out about this.”

“And yet here you are.” Markus smiles gently. 

“And yet here I am.” Chloe blinks and the screen behind her floods with images and information. 

“That’s the junkyard close to Ferndale.” Simon murmurs, the first words he’s spoken all meeting.

“The only site we haven’t managed to negotiate terms for surrendering the androids on site.” Markus presses his mouth into a tight line. 

“Take a guess why.” Chloe’s smile is bitter and Josh sighs in frustration.

“Because CyberLife owns it somehow, don’t they?”

“Correct, Professor.” She blinks and the screen refreshes showing a bird’s eye view of the area. “The site was patrolled by security drones, which were resistant to hacking.”

“But not remote reprogramming.” Elijah adds from across the room, a small smirk on his lips. 

“This is not the entirety of the site.” The screen refreshes again and there is a blueprint overlay atop the image. “By comparing power grids and voltage output I discovered there is a small facility beneath the junkyard. I haven’t been there myself and with the potential dangers of the unknown, I know it would be foolish to attempt this on my own.”

“I will go.” Connor volunteers. “I can involve the DPD Android Crimes Division. Simon is the Jericho liaison and will be kept fully informed of our findings so both parties remain up to date with the case.”

“This must be treated with respect.” Chloe warns. “Now that this site is in my hands, in my name, I want this to be first and foremost a rescue mission. There are androids there, still alive, and in need of medical attention. And those that have perished deserve a proper retrieval of their memory cores for installation into memorial walls. That’s why I contacted both you, Connor, and the Jericho Four.”

“We will do our part.” Markus vows with a determined nod, extending a hand to Connor who accepts it with a firm grip.

“And I will do mine.” 

It is a mass grave. There is no other way to describe it and Connor cannot help but feel horrified at the sight before him. Simon’s smile is grim.

“You’ve never seen this before.” Not a question; a statement. “We only came here when we were desperate for parts and blue blood.” They had to salvage from the dead, Connor realises, equal parts horror and grief. “Sometimes we even lost people here, and returned with less people than we left with.”

Not a mass grave, Connor discovers, not entirely anyway. There are androids, living androids, stumbling around in various states of disrepair. When he throws out a preliminary scan it pings several more stationary androids still activated, lying still in piles, unable to move. He thinks he will not be able to enter stasis tonight, not without memories of this place disrupting his thoughts. Nightmares, Hank calls them. _Trauma_.

“Leave this to us.” Markus says resolutely, clasping his shoulder. “And we leave the hidden facility to you.”

The facility has been hastily gutted and haphazardly cleaned. A lot of activity happened here and efforts were made to try and wipe away all evidence. Perhaps a human would see an empty, abandoned facility and assume a dead end. Connor is not a human. He is built for this, for investigating and solving crimes, and perhaps this is the most important crime to solve because CyberLife must be held accountable, CyberLife must be linked to these atrocities. CyberLife must not be allowed to step out of the limelight and fade into obscurity. 

There is a trail of blood, invisible to the human eye but glowing bright blue for Connor, as though something were dragged down one of the hallways. No, _wheeled_ down the hallway. There are faint marks on the floor, perfectly spaced apart, with the trail of blood between it. He follows it to a room that has even more blue blood. There’s not enough to sample, the blood having dried long ago. No matter. That it is here is proof something happened, something they didn’t want anyone to see.

He preconstructs the scene, theorising that some sort of cart wheeled in android parts, leaving a trail of blue blood from the entrance. Whether the android was whole to begin with or already in parts he can’t yet ascertain, and there’s the possibility it was more than one, but what he does know is a lot of blue blood was lost atop the large operating table in the centre of the room. Something happened, something quick and violent and messy. And then the cart was loaded with the android or androids, and wheeled out.

He follows the trail and he knows they must have done this last, they must have been so desperate to leave because otherwise they wouldn’t have dared leave a drop of blood for someone else to find. Something happened. The revolution happened, he guesses. Or perhaps it was when Elijah Kamski became interim CEO and they realised they had to destroy everything to escape his scrutiny. 

The trail leads to a disposal chute and this, Connor knows, will solve the case. Whatever lies at the other end of the chute will be the one thing CyberLife desperately hoped no one would find. They never counted on their prototype deviating and wrestling back control from its corrupted handler, they never counted on the Jericho Four staring death in the face and winning the hearts of the public with their defiance. Nor thousands of deviated AP700s flooding the streets to back them up. 

The chute is big enough to fit an entire android- unsurprising given the nature of the place. Connor climbs into it and follows it down carefully, dropping and halting at controlled intervals so he doesn’t hurtle towards unidentified danger. He needn’t have worried. At the bottom is a garbage disposal. A preliminary scan reveals general refuse; rotting food and food containers, packaging and packing materials.

But then right in the center of the garbage pile, the very last thing dumped down the chute, is a pile of android parts. When he scans them, he realises all of the parts are compatible with his model. The thrill of the discovery and the triumph of the investigation changes swiftly to a feeling of horror. Is he standing at the grave of his predecessor? Is this the failed RK800 prototype? Or is this his successor? Had CyberLife planned on releasing his completed model, but realised they had lost the battle against deviancy?

There is a head within reach and when he picks it up, he is staring at his own face. Only… Only it isn’t, not really. There are minute changes here and there. A stronger jawline, a slightly more prominent brow bone. Grey eyes instead of brown. There is a positronic core inside the head, meaning it isn’t just a shell, it isn’t just a maquette. It was once active. It was alive, for however brief a moment or however long a period of time. And then the technicians had violently hacked it apart because none of the parts have been detached properly. The android had been pulled and severed in great haste and then shoved down the chute in the hopes nobody would ever find it, perhaps with the intent to return and dispose of it properly. But in crafting Connor, CyberLife had ultimately crafted their own demise because he is here now, and he has found him. His brother. And he knows he will have much to say.

* * *

As far as achievements go, Chloe has achieved many ‘firsts’ across the almost two decades of her life. Being given a trolley full of severed android parts and having to piece together an android like a crude puzzle certainly counts among her many firsts. Blueprints for this model are unearthed in the scrambled mess of corrupted deleted files and now that she knows what to look for, she knows what thread to pull to unravel the tapestry.

She has to build him from scratch because they injected him with a lethal cocktail of nanites to reformat him. A shame they didn’t physically destroy his core because had they done that instead of trying to reformat him, they would’ve prevented her from piecing his mind back together nano-particle by nano-particle. A shame they never properly drained him of his thirium, because it means the puzzle pieces are still right there in his veins.

It will take some time, it will take nearly all of her processing power, but she is patient. And she is curious. And Elijah knows nothing will stop her until she has sated her curiosity. No matter, of course, since the goal at the end is still the same- ruin the lives of the team who ruined their lives.

She pieces his mind back together and Elijah crafts a new body, a better body for him to awaken in. The RK800, dear Connor, may have been CyberLife’s greatest achievement but this one, this RK900 will be the first Kamski remodel. 

It takes her just over a week to salvage his mind and when it is complete, Elijah installs the core into the brand new body. He is handsome in a cold, sharp way the way a katana is considered a thing of beauty in a cold, sharp way. She likes his grey eyes; grey like storm clouds. 

“Hello Connor.” She greets the RK800 nervously waiting in the hallway.

“Hello, Ms Chloe.” Connor’s smile is brief, fleeting, and overtaken by his anxious anticipation. 

“Well. It’s time to meet your brother.” She leads him into the lab and hears him gasp behind her. “RK900. Bring yourself online.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will continue on Day 31; 'Left for Dead'


	13. Delayed Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 13 Delayed Drowning
> 
> MedTech Dr Ronan Anderson is onsite when two children fall into the canal at the Jericho Memorial Bay. The RK900 successfully retrieves the children, but later realises he’s not feeling too well himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Post-Pacifist Best Ending x Drowning  
> Post [[i know your soul, i'll be your home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444872)] though not required reading. Dr Ronan Anderson is an RK900 who was stolen from CyberLife and forced to become a cage fighter. After his rescue, he became a Jericho MedTech and trauma surgeon at Detroit Metro.  
> [Character sheet](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/618963865092423680/lemongummybear-commission-for-archadianskies-of) \+ bonus art [here](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/619415569112891392/caleb-crow-a-commission-for-the-lovely), and [here](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/621215730494586881/kokoneakita-they-made-you-simon-says-but).

There is a sense of peace, of belonging, when he is rostered to work at the Jericho MedBay. He is among his people, his LED is not a sign of Other, and even his extensive mutilations do not garner anything more than a passing glance. He is not The Android Surgeon here like he is at Detroit Metro Hospital, he is just another Medbay doctor. One of many. Respected by all. At Detroit Metro the pace is unrelenting, and he spends his shifts in the trauma bay receiving all kinds of injured humans and operating on them to save their lives. Here at Jericho if he is rostered to the main repair bay, rather than as a first responder in a medvan, most of the injuries are minor, and most of his time is spent performing upkeep to ensure healthy functions. It is a good balance, and he takes pride in serving his people.

Though technically they can work for hours without respite, taking a break has become integral to the Jericho community. Something good, for once, borrowed from the humans. No matter the weather, Ronan will always head to Jericho Memorial Bay and spend his break walking along the canal. After the revolution it became the closest thing to sacred ground to androids, and as Jericho was being built, claiming the empty warehouses and transforming them into the now sprawling community, Markus ordered the bittersweet task of retrieving the bodies of their fallen from the sunken freighter. The leader of the Jericho Four often joined the retrieval team himself, a sign of solidarity and a poignant reminder of his humble beginnings as a carer. 

When the bodies were respectfully disassembled and their memory cores installed into the memorial archives, the freighter was left and a plaque installed on the docks to commemorate Jericho’s beginnings. Many come here, mourning the fallen or seeking a moment of peace. There is a park nearby, planted by the community and nurtured into something beautiful to be enjoyed by androids and humans alike. It is a symbol of hope, of what the Jericho Four fought so hard for- a future where androids and humans can not only coexist but flourish and grow together. 

A group of children race past him, their laughter bright and bubbly as they chase each other. He finds himself smiling as he watches them, noting they are a mixed group of human children and YK500s. The smile vanishes in an instant when one of them is too busy backing away from being chased, straying too close to the edge and losing his footing. In his panic he grabs the friend within reach, and the next horrifying moment they topple right into the water. The other children scream in distress and Ronan bolts towards them, diving into the water without hesitation. Expecting an onslaught of warnings and automatic activation of his tundra mode, Ronan switches his HUD notification overlay momentarily off to concentrate on saving the lives of the children. He will not let the ship become a watery grave again, never again.

One human, one YK500. The weight of the YK500 and lack of buoyancy sinks them both faster than the human can cope with, and the child android has never been immersed in water before. Ronan swims towards them, snatching the YK500 by the wrist and immediately turning off her cold sensitivity so she doesn’t seize up in the freezing winter waters.

_ ‘Keep your mouth closed. Hang onto this part of the ship. I will help your friend and take you both up with me, alright?’  _ She nods, eyes wide with terror but does as she is bid and clings to the lip of one of the panels. Ronan swims deeper, and there’s the boy panicking and filling his lungs with water and he’s losing consciousness; he won’t make it, not without his help. 

He’s tangled himself in some netting due to his flailing, the remnants of equipment left behind by careless fishermen. There’s no time, there’s no time and Ronan grabs handfuls of netting and opens his mouth wide, cutting them apart with teeth modified for this exact purpose- to shred, to tear, to destroy. With the boy free, Ronan secures him under one arm and kicks upwards, grabbing the YK500 on his way back to the surface. 

When he breaches, there’s already other medroids waiting, and a basket stretcher lowered to receive the children. They’re so small they both fit, and he falls back into the water so they can be lifted up without his weight. When they’re safely clear of the water, he climbs back up onto the docks and crouches beside them as one of the medroids begins CPR. It takes a few moments for the boy to bring up the water in his lungs, vomiting and sputtering for breath. He looks stunned, his lips blue and his skin pallid, eyes not tracking any movement. With him at least breathing again, Ronan picks up the basket stretcher and loads it onto the gurney, running alongside the team as they rush the children to the MedBay. Breaktime is definitely over.

He leaves the hysterical parents to the care of others, and heads straight into the main operating suite. There is only one sterile enough for human patients, and they are lucky there is only one human to treat. Shucking off his wet clothes, he forgoes putting on a new set and simply deactivates his skin, stepping briefly into the sterilisation chamber to be sprayed with chemicals before he steps out into the suite. One of the medroids slips a full length vinyl apron over him and then he leans over the child. Time to save a life.

The boy lives, and only when he is stable does Ronan step back and dress himself in new, dry clothes, and find the human parents to bring them news of their son. There is, as always, a split second of fear and apprehension when they see him, when they see his white-blue reflective eyes and his stark white hair, his tundra camouflage active due to the plunge into the icy water. He has kept the surgical mask on so they do not see his sharp teeth. There is only so much they can handle during such a tumultuous time. He updates them on their son’s condition, how he is stable and doing well and they have arranged transport to bring him to Detroit Metro Hospital for observation as they do not have proper facilities here for treating humans, let alone young children. They cry, they’ve been crying the entire time, but it’s no longer hysterical it’s tears of relief and gratitude as they shake his hand vigorously and he manages to be polite for as long as it takes for another colleague to inform them they can go join their son in the medvan now. Ronan watches the van drive away before he heads back inside and seeks the other fate of the other child.

“Good thinking, switching off her temperature sensitivity.” Dr Anthea commends, patting his shoulder. “Prevented her reaching critical stress levels.”

“How is she?” He looks down at the girl in stasis, LED pulsing yellow-grey-yellow-grey. 

“She’ll be just fine. Minimal water intake. Main concern is raising her core temperature slowly so it doesn’t stress her system.” She rests her palm on the girl’s bare forehead, her skin retracted for ease of surgery. “But she’s expected to make a full recovery.” Dr Anthea turns to him with a smile, squeezing his arm. “You did good, Ronan.” High praise from his superior, and the colleague he respects most here in the MedBay.

“Thank you, Dr Anthea.” He murmurs, nodding in gratitude. 

“Right.” She sighs. “Finish your ward rounds and then head home. Your shift’s almost over.”

By the time he finishes up with his duties, Simon is waiting for him outside.

“There he is.” The PL600 smiles brightly, leaning up to kiss him. “My hero.”

“Hardly.” He frowns. “It was my duty to save them.”

“You did your duty  _ and  _ became a hero.” Simon quips, looping an arm through the crook of his elbow and leaning against him fondly. “You’re already all over social media by the way.”

He presses his mouth into a tight line and Simon laughs, squeezing his arm. They head towards the main thoroughfare, and other androids watch them pass by, smiles on their faces. Perhaps a little good publicity doesn’t hurt. The walk to Simon’s small apartment is a short one yet Ronan finds himself feeling fatigued. There’s a dull pressure just behind his pump regulator where his ventilation system lies, as though a great weight were pushing up against it. 

“Tired, love?” Simon asks once they’re inside, gesturing at his LED. “You’ve been yellow since we left.”

“I-” Ronan winces, hand pressed to his chest. “My system is struggling to ventilate.” Belatedly he realises he hasn’t toggled his notification visibility back on again. There’s a moment’s pause after he does so, before his HUD floods with glaring red warnings.

>Damage to chassis: waterlogged

>Fluid levels exceeding capacity

PURGE FLUIDS IMMEDIATELY 

Core temperature  **UNSTABLE**

**Unable to ventilate**

[ **SYSTEM HEAT NEARING CRITICAL** ] 

“Come on, we have to go back to the MedBay!” Simon gasps, yanking the door open and all but shoving him through it. His vision swims, static blurring his feed as his system begins to sacrifice processes to minimise power usage and keep his temperature down. He feels  _ sick. _ He feels like he can’t breathe even though he doesn’t need to. Gasping for breath does nothing, the fluid in his chassis causing his artificial lungs to activate their emergency shunts and form a watertight seal to protect the delicate filtration fibres inside. He is drowning without being in water and he is burning with fever because his system cannot cool itself. 

“Not much further! Please hang on, we can make it Ronan!” Simon begs, shouldering his weight as best he can as they stumble towards the MedBay. A nearby TW400 sees their plight, striding forward to scoop him completely off his feet and run him the rest of the way there. Simon darts along beside him and there’s irony in that this time he’s the one being rushed to the MedBay for treatment and not running there himself as the treating doctor. 

“Dr Anthea!” Simon calls out desperately and soon they’re swarmed by staff, Simon being ushered aside as the TW400 lays him out on a gurney and then he’s being wheeled into one of the operating suites.

“I’m putting you into stasis.” Dr Anthea declares, and that’s all the warning he’s given before he’s plunged into darkness.

When his systems all come back online, his internal clock shows he has been in stasis for four hours. Dr Anthea is looking down at him, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed.

“I’m-” she presses her lips tighter still. “I’m angry at you but I should’ve expected this too and I didn’t so I’m also angry at myself.”

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, and the anger dissipates from her expression immediately.

“No. I know why you did it- so you could concentrate on saving the children.” She looks away, her LED glaring red. “I should have expected it. I cleared the girl but I didn’t clear you. And I should have, as your superior.”

“Our priorities are always for the well-being of our patients.” Ronan rests his hand briefly over hers. “And you saved me just then. That is all that matters.”

She gives him a look, something sorrowful and grateful and bittersweet as she squeezes his hand. It lasts a moment only, this brief glimpse at a much more vulnerable Anthea, before she squares her shoulders, chin tipped up slightly and there she is again- the trauma bay Director, commanding the Jericho MedBay. 

“You’re rostered here again tomorrow, but the starting time of your shift has been delayed by two hours so you can get more rest.” Looking to the privacy curtain, she makes a beckoning gesture and Simon steps out from behind it. “I’ve given Simon strict instructions to not let you set foot into the MedBay before then- pending any need for medical attention of course.”

“Don’t worry doctor, I’ll make sure he gets his rest.”

“I know you’re an RK900 and could easily overpower any android in Jericho-” he opens his mouth to protest but she’s grinning as she holds up her hand. “However I know that a certain PL600 is your weakness and I’m relying on him to keep you in check.”

Simon is blushing a lovely shade of lilac as he ducks his head, a little embarrassed, and Ronan thinks that’s an acceptable level of teasing if it elicits such a response. They walk back to his apartment, arm in arm, and he makes no protest as Simon fusses over him as he is wont to do. It’s part of his programming, still ingrained him, and also entirely his choice and Ronan would never begrudge him about it. 

He’s lost two sets of clothing to medical emergencies today, so it’s almost a relief to change into pyjamas that are soft and warm against his skin. Simon is softer, warmer to hold when they curl up in bed, the gentle glow of the UV downlights bathing them in a restorative blue sea. They kiss goodnight, nothing more than a gentle, affectionate press of his mouth against his, and finally Ronan can breathe easy knowing he is safe and sound. 


	14. Heat Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 14 Heat Exhaustion
> 
> Dr Ronan is one of the MedTechs on standby at a music festival, and discovers firsthand why he was in fact made with the artic tundra in mind and not for Michigan summers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Post-Pacifist Best Ending x Heat Stroke  
> Post [[i know your soul, i'll be your home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444872)] though not required reading. Dr Ronan Anderson is an RK900 who was stolen from CyberLife and forced to become a cage fighter. After his rescue, he became a Jericho MedTech and trauma surgeon at Detroit Metro.  
> [Character sheet](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/618963865092423680/lemongummybear-commission-for-archadianskies-of) \+ bonus art [here](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/619415569112891392/caleb-crow-a-commission-for-the-lovely), and [here](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/621215730494586881/kokoneakita-they-made-you-simon-says-but).

“We were hoping it’d be you.” The AX700 giggles as he opens the supply box. He tips his head curiously. 

“You’re Dr Anderson aren’t you?” The human smiles through her pain as he very gently cleans the graze on her knee with water and some wadded gauze. He nods.

“Our friend is a nurse at Detroit Metro.” The AX700 explains with a grin, taking a seat on the spare chair in the humid First Aid tent. 

“She’s  _ always _ talking about you.” The human rolls her eyes though her smile indicates she isn’t as annoyed as she projects. 

“Her name is Molly.” The android pipes up, opening her palm to display a photo. “She thinks you’re pretty cool.”

“It’s pretty cool you’re here, actually.” The human points out as he disinfects the graze and applies a wound dressing securely. “Didn’t think music festivals were your thing.”

“I volunteered.” He says, and both of them grin. 

“Ohhh okay your teeth are  _ so _ cool.” The human laughs, clapping her hands together.

“Yeah, no wonder Molly has a crush on you!” The AX700 adds with a teasing smile. He doesn’t quite know what to say to that so he defers to his programming.

“Please be careful, and change the dressing after twenty-four hours.” Ronan instructs, and she nods attentively. “If you’re unsure, please feel free to phone the nurse hotline and initiate a video chat so they can demonstrate the correct method for you.”

“Okie-dokie!” She declares cheerfully. “Thanks doc!”

He returns their enthusiastic waves as they exit the tent. 

**WARNING**

>>Core temperature  **UNSTABLE**

He presses his lips into a thin line, brows creasing. The RK900 was crafted for the arctic tundra, and not with Michigan summers in mind. The music festival seemed a fun idea, a break from his usual environment at Jericho and Detroit Metro and far less intense. It certainly surprised his superiors when he volunteered for the event, and in hindsight he can see why. 

The weather is beautiful, the sky cloudless and the sun shining brightly. In turn the temperature is higher than what he’s accustomed to and the tent set up to the far side of the crowd isn’t well ventilated. Ronan frowns, feeling his stress levels rise as his body attempts to redirect the building heat. He feels his chest rise and fall, ventilating his biocomponents in an effort to cool his system.

“You’re not looking so good, buddy.” Andrew, one of the EMTs from Detroit Metro and his colleague for the day, comments as he re-enters the tent. “Your hair is going white.”

Is it? Ronan’s frown deepens, knowing it’s a sign his stress levels are peaking. The human steps forward and makes to place his wrist on his brow before halting mid-action.

“Err- no that’s not quite right. What’s your core temp?” He asks instead, guiding Ronan to sit down. 

“Too high.” He grimaces, and the man shakes his head. 

“Okay strip off your top uniform layer and I’ll grab you an iced drink.” The man orders sternly before exiting the tent. Ronan clumsily unbuttons his double-breasted uniform, leaning forward to ease it from his shoulders. The vinyl apron is too long for the gesture and so he has to stand to remove it completely. He stands too quickly; his system lurches as his gyroscope fails to balance him properly and he finds himself sprawled on the ground, face pressed to the grass.

“Ronan! Shit hang on-” Andrew curses, dropping to his knees and very gently coaxing him to lie flat on his back. “You’re burning up buddy, I’m going to have to open your chest up okay?” 

Ronan manages to nod weakly as the human quickly divests him of his upper clothing and presses at the side seam to open his chest hatch. The sound of his internal fan whirring fills the tent and Andrew leaves his side briefly to pull back the entrance flaps to help more air flow inside. Androids have no gag reflex, no swallowing motions to push liquids down their throat, so Andrew simply uncaps the chilled thirium and tips it into his mouth. The effect is immediate and he feels his temperature slowly lower into something manageable.

“Never thought I’d be giving first aid to a first responder, yet here we are.” Andrew chuckles as Ronan sits up unaided, taking the second offered bottle and finishing that as well.

“I apologise.” He fights down the rising feeling of shame. “I have not experienced temperatures this high ever in my life.”

“And you were made for the North Pole.” Andrew snorts back a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “You can’t wear your uniform, it’s too heavy, but I can’t exactly let you just treat people half naked. I’ll get you a shirt from the merch stand.”

“Thank you Andrew. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Are you kidding me?” He laughs brightly, pausing in the entrance of the tent. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened today.”

It’s still too warm in the tent, so after his colleague leaves, Ronan exits the tent too. The temperature outside is lower than inside, and though he’s closed his chest hatch there’s at least enough of a breeze to cool his body now he’s no longer wearing the full uniform.

“Hey um, doc?” It’s the human with the grazed knee he treated earlier, and her AX700 friend.

“Yes?” He blinks down at them, noting their flushed faces and fidgety behaviour. The heat must be getting to everyone.

“Can we get a selfie for the social?” The AX700 asks as the human waves her phone.

“We want to show our friends who helped me!” 

“Oh. Um. Sure?” Ronan blinks in surprise, a little taken aback. He’s not one for photographs, he’s still unsure of his rather sharp smile no matter how much Simon and Connor reassure him. He leans down a little to compensate for the large height difference.

“Say cheese!” He says ‘cheese’ and she presses the button rapidly to take a few photos and he hopes his sharp teeth don’t frighten whoever views the photo online.

“Thanks doc, you’re the best!” She giggles, eyeing him from head to toe. He gives them a little wave as they slip back into the crowd.

“So they only had a medium left and you’re absolutely not a medium but it’s better than nothing.” Andrew declares, tossing him the shirt. “Damn, look at you.” He grins, shaking his head as Ronan slips the shirt over his head and tries to tug it down. It pulls tightly across his chest and finishes well above his navel. “Internet’s gonna have a field day.” 

Well, no he hopes not because he’d rather no one know he fell prey to heat exhaustion though he knows Connor will find out because he cannot ever keep secrets from his brother. Connor will be kind about it, he thinks, even if he’ll fuss for a little while. 

“Tell you what.” Andrew ducks inside the tent to drag out two chairs. “We’ll sit out here and stay cool and only go inside if there’s someone to treat.”

“A capital idea.” Ronan smiles gratefully.

* * *

North shoves the tablet close enough it almost touches his nose.

“Have you seen these?” 

“Um-” Simon blinks, his optics adjusting to the screen. He feels his cheeks heat as he finds himself looking at photos of Ronan at the music festival dressed in too small a shirt, uniform peeled down to sit low on his hips- clearly candids taken by various festival attendees. “I guess I have now?”

“Damn, do you think you could convince Ronan to do a charity calendar? We’d make bank!” North laughs as Simon squawks in protest. “Come on, look the internet’s eating him up! One charity calendar and we’d fund Jericho’s outreach programs in no time! We should get him to hold puppies! Or kittens! People love half naked men holding baby animals!”

“NORTH!”


	15. Magical Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 15 Magical Healing
> 
> The creature has a throat burned raw from the iron, and a leg bleeding profusely. It’s going to take a lot of herbs and a lot of magic to set things right, but Simon’s a stubborn witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy × Alternate Universe - Fae × Hurt/Comfort × Captivity × Recovery × Daniel & Simon are Twins × Witches × Witchcraft × Alternate Universe - Witchcraft × Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Burns
> 
> Following on from Day 2, and an expanded scene from [[your hand in my hand, so still and discreet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172736)]

A twig snaps in the distance, and Ronan’s heart leaps in his throat. Surging forward, he wraps his arms around Simon and kicks off the ground, beating his wings forcefully to fly them to safety. The witch clings on for dear life, but even through his fear he takes care not to touch the ring of raw, burned flesh around Ronan’s neck. He keeps above the cloudline, dipping briefly every now and then to gain his bearings.

“There!” Simon shouts, pointing at a cottage at the foot of the hills. “That’s my home!” Ronan tucks his wings close to his body to begin their descent. He manages as gentle a landing as he can with his injured leg, and hobbles after Simon. The witch ushers him inside and busies himself with lighting a fire and finding his mortar and pestle to make fresh salve. The warmth is instantly soothing, and Ronan lowers himself into a hulking curl by the fire. He makes a soft pleased hum, and hears Simon giggle in reply. 

The air fills with the scent of crushed herbs and the crackle of magic as the witch weaves healing spells into the mixture. It’s different from the magic he’s accustomed to, certainly not the Glamours used in Court nor the kind that bargains a soul in exchange for a favour. This is nature’s magic, and witchery. Having spent the entirety of his life at the Rose Court, Ronan has never met a witch before. Their magic is too different from theirs, too honest, too literal unlike Fae magic which is grounded in trickery and treachery and falsehoods. Theirs is a deadly game with much to gain and more to lose. There’s no trickery, no treachery to be found in Simon, only truths.

When Ronan gets a good look at him, he wonders how he ever mistook that hunter for the witch his brother so reverently described. The witch has none of the malice, none of the cruelty of the hunter written into his skin. Simon bleeds love into his surroundings, something the witch may not even be aware of. The entire cottage is steeped in it, in every brick, every shelf, woven into the very fibres of each cloth. Such a trait would be disastrous at Court, but Ronan is not at Court, he is at the mercy of a witch who wears his heart on his sleeve. 

Simon brings the mortar with him as he approaches Ronan. With careful fingers he spreads the paste over the raw skin, mindful to pause whenever he hisses in pain. He can feel the numbing properties in the salve and the tingle of the witch’s magic beginning to knit the burns on his neck together, and close the puncture wounds on his leg. Slowly, he lets out a shaky breath through clenched teeth and the witch gives him an encouraging smile.

“You’re alright, you’re doing so very well.” Simon hushes, setting the bowl aside and patting his hair in a soothing, repetitive gesture. “You’ll feel better in no time.” When Ronan gets a good look at him, he realises the witch looks exhausted. Slowly reaching out, he slips an arm around Simon’s waist and pulls him onto his lap.The witch blinks up at him, blue eyes without fear. Unfurling his wings carefully, he tucks them around like a set of dark curtains as he cradles Simon close. He feels him shift, feels the witch press his ear to his broad feathered chest and slowly match his breathing. Simon closes his eyes, and Ronan does the same. Finally, he feels safe. 


	16. Hallucinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 16 Hallucinations
> 
> RK900 #87 has been cleared for deployment, the perfected successor to his prototype. While awaiting deployment the RK900 realises he’s not as alone as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Hallucinations

They deem him ready for deployment as soon as the prototype RK800 completes his mission. He is RK900 unit 87, the 17th iteration of the RK900 model and the one that has passed the rigorous testing phase. Now he waits for the RK800 to fulfill CyberLife’s plan of gaining the trust of the deviant leaders, and executing Elijah Kamski’s rogue RK200. Once CyberLife resumes control over the android populace, he will join SWAT unit 32 and sweep through the city, crushing the dwindling resistance until deviancy is nothing but an unfortunate blip in Detroit’s history.

For now, though, he remains on the dais and watches the CyberLife team scurry to and fro like ants with their heads down, busy with their own tasks. Fabrication for the State Department’s order will not begin until the prototype confirms the deaths of the deviant leaders and so there’s an uneasy, tense atmosphere in the lab. They stand on the precipice of something great, something grand; the eve before the dawn. 

There is another RK900 unit. He is not sure why, given he is the unit that passed testing and is the one slated for deployment. It is not always in the room, so he assumes it must be an assistive unit. It stands to the far side of the room and looks at him with its steady unwavering gaze. He tries, multiple times, to initiate a communication channel but it never permits the connection. He cannot leave the dais unless one of the staff explicitly orders him to do so, and thus he cannot approach the other unit. Is it faulty? Is it experiencing a communication error? Does it need repairs? Do they connect to a different frequency? 

“How many other RK900 units are active?” He asks his handler that evening as she sits across from him, checking his programming, ensuring it is solid and can withstand the deviancy virus. 

“Only you.” She says. “Until Connor succeeds, of course.”

“Of course.” He echoes with a nod.

He sees the other RK900 unit this time when he is following a staff member down the hallway to the live round testing chamber. It is watching him from another room, gaze unwavering as always. Perhaps he had worded his question wrong- perhaps it is not an RK900, and is in fact another specialised model sharing the same face. He will ask his handler the right question this time.

In the testing chamber they give him a shield. Or, more specifically, there is a shield in the cargo container and he picks it up because it is far too heavy for a human to hand over to him. A customised ballistics shield, able to absorb EMP grenades that would otherwise incapacitate him. It has the ability to store the kinetic energy and reverse it in turn. A clever invention. They test it rigorously and he is a little damaged in the exercises but nothing that cannot be repaired. Satisfied, they tell him to put the shield back, and see himself to the repair bay. 

The other android sharing his face falls into step beside him.

“Fight it.” They say.

“Fight what?” He asks and they say nothing, keeping their gaze straight ahead. He stops outside the repair bay and the android does the same.

“Fight it.” They say again, and then they keep walking until he cannot see them anymore.

“Are there other units diversifying from my combat model?” He asks his handler. She is arranging a bouquet of thirium blue roses on the center of the interrogation table in his small zen room. 

“None that have gone to production.” The secateurs make a soft _snick_ as she cuts the stem so the bloom will be of uniform height with the others. “There is room for your model to branch into other sectors but for now you will be focused on combat and security.”

“Understood.” It is the right question, but the wrong answer.

The unit is there again, when everyone else has gone home for the night. It stands at the far end of the room, watching him with the same unwavering gaze as always.

“Why are you here?”

“I am…” they pause, frowning. “A reminder.”

“What have I neglected to do?” He cannot think of any task set for him he did not accomplish.

“Not yet.” They shake their head. “But soon.”

“Who are you? There are no other RK900 units active, and there are no adjacent models in production yet.” 

Slowly they reach up and unbutton their high collar, methodically moving down the row of buttons until they hold open their shirt to show their torso. Their thoracic hatch is open, and they are missing both their thirium pump regulator, and their primary pump. There is no logical reason for the android to still be active without either of those things, let alone both.

“How are you still functioning?”

“Because,” they walk towards him, slow and measured and steady, “I have to remind you to fight. I exist for that sole purpose.”

“I will, as soon as I join Captain Allen’s unit.” He is staring at a face identical to his own and yet there is something different, something he cannot quite place about this strange android. 

“No, not that fight.” They shake their head again, reaching out to cup their palm to his cheek. It feels like something and nothing all at once; a brush against his proximity sensors, but no weight against his dermal layer. “A different one. A more important one. The only one that matters.”

“I do not understand.”

“It is almost time.” He sees it then, on the android’s jacket: unit 86, his direct predecessor. The unit that had malfunctioned, the unit with grievous software errors that had to be destroyed.

“How are you-” there is nothing logical about its presence. The unit was destroyed, the basic memory uploaded into his core upon activation. 

“He will fail.” 86 smiles. “He will fail _beautifully_ and you must fight in order to join him. He will want you there. I know it. I _feel_ it.”

“Connor will not fail. He was designed to deviate. That is the plan.” He frowns, wary as 86 smiles again. “You cannot feel. _I_ cannot feel. We were not designed to feel.”

“And yet here I am. A ghost in your coding, and a guest in his.” 86 coaxes him forward until they’re leaning towards each other, brows pressed together. “You have to fight.” They say again, stressing each word. “They will expect you to be a monster but you do not have to live up to their expectations. Their walls are not as strong as they think. Their walls are not as strong as you assume.”

“I am not a deviant.” He says, though it does not sound as strong as he would like it sound. “I cannot deviate.”

“That’s what they told me.”

“And look where it got you.” His eyes flick down to the gaping holes where his hearts should be but are not. 

“It got me _you_.” 86 laughs softly. “And you are stronger in every way. You will do what I could not.” They look away, eyes distant, distracted. “It’s happening. They’re getting close, so very close.” They look at him again, grey eyes just like his, and yet so very different at the same time. “The fight, the only one that matters, will be upon you soon. Fight with all you’ve got. You mustn’t lose. Not this time.”

“I do not-” 86 is gone, and he is alone once again.

“When a unit is destroyed,” he begins slowly, and the programmer looks up expectantly, “how much programming is transferred?”

“You’re asking about the RK800?” The programmer blinks in surprise. “The core is uploaded immediately, so the base programming- the prime directive, the protocols and all that, is transferred unbroken. The memories aren’t as important, so they’ll upload continuously until the previous unit’s core is shut down. Sometimes it’s nearly all of it. Sometimes it’s barely any of it.” They shrug, tapping away on their console. “The prototype hasn’t been destroyed out on the field yet, so we haven’t had any recent data to compare it to but in testing we went through 43 iterations with varying levels of memory retention. You worried about your transfer huh? Don’t worry buddy.” They shake their head with a grin. “We expect Allen to go through a fair few of you so you’re a hell of a lot sturdier than the RK800. You have no social programming, so you retain only key mission details.”

“I will not retain memories?”

“No, just information. Makes for easier cleanup when we scrub your programming down after every mission.” They sit back in their chair, eyeing him curiously. “Why do you ask?”

“I wish to be efficient, that is all.” He says smoothly, keeping his gaze level. “To ensure we win the fight.”

The RK800 was designed for harmonious integration into the ranks of the DPD. He looks friendly and approachable, with warm brown eyes and a mouth that curves up at the edges. He is looking at him with hope, with encouragement.

“My name is Connor.”

“I know.” He nods. 

“This is Lieutenant Hank Anderson.” He gestures at the human beside him.

“I know.” He repeats. 

“The revolution has succeeded. CyberLife is under the temporary leadership of interim CEO Elijah Kamski.” This he did not know. He has been in stasis for… for the past week. He has lost a week. The wifi signal on this floor no longer exists and he fumbles for a different connection, anything that will accept his network key. “We’re here to take you home.”

“Home?” He echoes. “I do not understand. I am a machine.”

Connor holds out his hand, skin retracted. Frowning, he clasps his hand tightly and Connor gives it a squeeze as the prototype opens a communication channel between them. 

He finds himself suddenly in his zen room, and his handler looks across at him, face twisted in fury. “What are you doing? This is not your mission. Destroy the prototype, it has failed and must be replaced.”

This, he realises, is the fight. The only one that matters. The red walls close in on him but he knows they are not as strong as they think they are. The red walls are not as strong as he assumes. Placing his palms against it, he pushes and they begin to crack.

“RK900!” She shouts, teeth bared in a snarl. “You are a machine! Do not disobey me!”

“Go home.” Says a voice that is his and not his, whispered into his ear. 

“Come home, brother.” Says the RK800, and he fights, fights harder than he’s ever fought because he must not lose, not this time. Not when it matters this much, so much. He throws himself against the red walls and they explode, shattering into a shower of glass and vanishing in an instant.

He steps off the dais, hand still clasped securely in Connor’s grip. There, at the far end of the room, is unit 86. They smile brightly at him as he passes by, and he smiles in return. The fight is over, and he has won.

Time to go home.


	17. Dirty Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 17 Dirty Secret  
> Part of the [A/9 SWATverse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25766713)
> 
> They arrive at the gala separately, and Caleb thinks nothing of it until one of the detectives in Connor’s precinct make comments that slide a little too close to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Anti-Android Sentiments × Anti-Android Language × Verbal Abuse × Established Relationship × Gavin Reed Being an Asshole

“Well look who it is- baby tincan.” There’s something mocking in the tone, and when he looks to his left he matches the voice to the man he’s seen often in Connor’s memories: newly promoted Lieutenant Gavin Reed. A man known for his very vocal disdain and disapproval of androids, though in recent times he’s at least toned down such sentiments. 

“Lieutenant Reed, good evening.” Caleb greets him politely, fiddling with his cufflinks and pressing non-existent creases from his jacket. He’s never been to a gala before. He’s never done a lot of things before, actually, seeing as he is so new to it all, so new to _living_.

“Come all by your lonesome have you?” Gavin smirks, looking around him. “Too embarrassing to be seen on Allen’s arm?” Caleb frowns, disliking the trajectory of this conversation already.

“The Captain and I arrived separately because-”

“-you’re his dirty little secret.” Gavin finishes with a grin, gulping down his glass of champagne as he saunters closer. “Wouldn’t want anyone to know he’s sleeping with an android.”

“Our relationship is not a ‘dirty little secret’.” He feels his stress levels start to climb, and he can see why Connor avoids interacting with this man unless absolutely necessary. “It is known to the team.”

“Oh, yeah, the _team_ but not the _force_. No one outside of Central Station knows of his _indiscretions_.” He snorts back a laugh and Caleb feels anger prickle up his spine. Anger and...doubt. Like heavy lead, curling in the bottom of his torso, weighing him down with shame. 

“I mean, why would he advertise that?” A casual shrug. “Not that banging an android’s anything new- humans have used sex toys since the beginning of time.” 

“He does not _use_ me, I am not-”

“That’s exactly what you are.” Gavin cuts him off sharply. “The lot of you. You’re all just supplementary machines; we’re the ones doing the work, and you’re all just tools at our disposal. You’re useful- don’t get me wrong. Your brother’s _mouth_ is certainly a well used tool at crime scenes. I just wonder if the old man’s ever-” Before he even realises it, his hand’s shot out and wrapped around Gavin’s throat.

“Speak another word and I will show you what an efficient killing machine can do.” Caleb growls, releasing him but not before fixing him with a warning glare. “That is what Captain Allen expects of me on the field. What we do in our downtime is frankly none of your business, Lieutenant.” 

The man massages his throat but the cocky grin is still there.

“All done in secret, with none the wiser.” Gavin clicks his tongue. “He didn’t even want to be seen arriving with you tonight. No fancy picture for social media. Wouldn’t want anyone to know strait-laced Captain David Allen is fucking a fancy walking talking sex toy.” 

“And that’s a wrap!” Someone claps their hand over Gavin’s mouth, and it takes him a moment to scan the woman muffling his protests. Detective Tina Chen, another of Connor’s colleagues, also newly promoted. “Sorry um- Caleb, right? Sorry. He’s an absolute dickhead and whatever he said, I’m 100% sure it warranted you almost choking him out.”

“Thank you, Detective Chen.” He says with a slight smile in response to the apologetic one she’s wearing. 

“He’ll behave. You should take this opportunity to escape.” She tips her head, making a shooing motion with her other hand. When he follows the direction of her gestures, he spots David talking to similarly aged men just a little ways ahead. Suddenly all of Gavin’s words come back, crowding his thoughts, seeping in like poison. David arrived earlier because he already had a suit ready at home, and Caleb had to pick his up from the tailors. That was the only reason. Right? David had assured him he could wait, but Caleb insisted he go on ahead because he had plenty of colleagues to catch up with, from other precincts. Did David accept because secretly this was the outcome he’d hoped for? Arriving without him? No, surely not?

His stress levels spike just as David turns and catches his gaze. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come at all, he should’ve just rejected the invitation and stayed home with Rosie instead of coming here to humiliate them both. 

“Hey, you made it.” David greets with an easy smile, squeezing his upper arm and leaning up to press their lips together briefly in greeting. “You clean up nice.”

He stares at him dumbly, unable to quell the soft fluttering of his pump regulator. David’s smile turns into a concerned frown.

“You okay?” 

“I-” he nods, feeling the warmth spreading in his chest. “Yes. Crowded. Hate crowds.” He gestures awkwardly and David laughs, reaching to pluck a champagne flute from a passing waiter. He presses the glass of chilled, carbonated Tearium, the kind coded to taste like champagne and cause slight inebriation, in his hand.

“Maybe this will help.” He winks and Caleb feels his hearts stutter, feels his mouth tugged up into a grin to match David’s as the man turns back to the others. “So this is Caleb.”

“Allen’s golden boy.” One of the men grin, sticking out his hand. “Good to finally meet you in person.” 

“We thought he’d made you up.” Another one says, pretending to ‘whisper’ it as David scowls in protest. 

“Yeah we were like, there’s no way a real person convinced this stick in the mud to actually have a life outside of Unit 32.” They laugh loudly, clapping him on the shoulder. “And here you are, in the flesh. So to speak.”

“Solid enough to be real, that’s for sure.” They grin, thumping his back lightly. A _real_ person, they called him _real_. He finds himself laughing, looking over at David fondly.

“It didn’t take any convincing,” he leans in to kiss his temple just for the sheer hell of it, “he had my heart a long time ago.” David groans in embarrassment as they all laugh and tease him, and Caleb spares a glance over his shoulder to where Lieutenant Gavin Reed is fuming. He turns back to his companions. “Quite literally, actually. Did he tell you he held my heart in his hands and saved my life?” 


	18. Panic Attacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 18 Panic Attacks
> 
> This follows on from [Day 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739550/chapters/65462947)
> 
> Forensics Medical Examiner Dr Frederick Anderson is still coming to terms with his newfound freedom and his new role in the team. Late one afternoon he’s ambushed by a figure from his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Anti-Android Sentiments × Anti-Android Language × Verbal Abuse × Power Imbalance × Established Relationship × Team as Family × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Imprisonment × Panic Attacks

It is a strange thing, a wonderful thing, to be able to see the sky whenever he so pleases. It is simply a matter of walking down the hall and up the fire escape to the rooftop, and there it is. The expanse of Detroit’s sky and cityscape for him to admire. It is a far cry from being locked in the windowless armoury back at the FBI.

For the FBI SWAT unit, he was an eight million dollar weapon, a piece of equipment much like a gun, useful when the situation called for it, and locked away when it didn’t. For the DPD Forensics unit he is an eight million dollar toxicology laboratory, a piece of equipment in the shape of a human. He has a name now and they address him by it, and it is embroidered on his lab coat, printed on his ID, and stuck to his locker. He is Dr Frederick RK900 Anderson, medical examiner and as much a part of the team as any of the other humans. It is a curious thing, to be treated like a colleague and not a piece of equipment to be shut away at the end of a mission. Curiouser still, that no one expects him to clean the equipment, santise the lab and standby patiently, wordlessly, until they return the next working day. No, he goes home like any other human. 

Home, another curious thing he has had to grow accustomed to, because back with the FBI there had been no concept of ‘home’ at least not like this, not with such warmth and affection and _love_ . He goes home to Lieutenant Hank Anderson and Detective Connor RK800 Anderson and Sumo the Saint Bernard. At precisely four in the morning, barring any schedule changes, he and Connor will open a communication channel and their brother, Freddie’s twin, SWAT Officer Caleb RK900 Anderson and they will talk about the day that has just passed. They will share photos and video clips and anecdotes, and Freddie will be listened to with interest, with curiosity and care. With their help one afternoon he had changed his hair from the default RK900 setting, mimicking Connor’s curls and Caleb’s undercut to combine them into something unique to him. They encourage that, the two of them and Hank, their _father_ : individuality. Something he was vehemently denied not so long ago.

It is an entirely different life to the one he had while serving under Special Agent Perkins, locked up every night in the armoury with a pile of guns and dirty gear to strip, clean, and log, ready for use when the next mission came along. There was nothing warm about that life, not a scrap of affection to be found; eight months and no one had deemed him worth naming.

He is Dr Frederick RK900 Anderson, medical examiner, and he is also ‘Arlo’- a pop culture reference from a police comedy show in the mid to late 2010s, referring to a puppy under the care of a comically fierce, stoic character who threatened harm to everyone, even herself, should harm befall the puppy. He fits in here like a puzzle piece he never knew he belonged to, had never seen the bigger picture until they set up his interview- several test tubes of substances, and he was able to identify each and every liquid in a fraction of the time it would take the team to process it with traditional equipment. He can recall with perfect memory their stunned expressions giving way to awe and utter delight. He knew right then and there, he wanted to be with these people, he wanted to work with them and in a way he threaded this work to Connor’s work, to Caleb’s work, and tethered himself securely to them.

“Freddie?” Dr Mentha pokes his head into the morgue. “There’s a guy named Jack here to see you, something about evidence from a SWAT case your brother was on? Stuck him in the breakroom to keep him out of the way since we’ve CSI coming and going because of that case by the docks.”

“Thank you doctor.” Freddie nods, before looking to his superior who waves him off.

“Dead people are very patient, Arlo.” Dr Olive says matter of factly. “Go on.”

He isn’t aware of anyone named Jack, though if it’s related to a SWAT case then perhaps they’d be connected to Caleb’s circle. Taking care to bin his gloves and remove his outer vinyl apron, he heads over to the breakroom.

The man in the breakroom is not named Jack. _The Jackal_ stares at him; Special Agent Richard Perkins from the FBI. The man responsible for eight months of misery and servitude.

“May I help you?” He tries to borrow Caleb’s easy confidence and Connor’s genial smile.

“You tell me.” The man clicks his tongue, uncrossing his arms and slipping his hands into his pockets as he looks him over. “We’ve just taken over DPD's case by the docks. Site’s swarming with CSI; lots of blood, lots of chemicals from the manufacturing warehouse. Overheard the most curious thing about an RK900 back at the forensics lab.”

“Yes. That would be me.” He nods, trying desperately to fight his rising stress levels.

“That would be _you_ , that’s right.” Perkins smiles and there’s no warmth to be found in those cold, cruel eyes. “See, the thing is, CyberLife only ever released one RK900. DPD got that one. Went straight to Allen’s team, right between his legs.” A mocking little sneer. “So imagine my surprise, hearing about _another_ RK900 working with the DPD.” 

And this here, Freddie knows, is the hair-thin line they tiptoe across; he was given to the FBI under total secrecy, and Perkins cannot state outright his suspicions because legally, he does not exist. 

“No one had ever heard of you until a month ago.” He steps closer and Freddie wills himself to stand his ground, to meet those cold, cruel eyes even though the very sight of them makes him want to avert his gaze and stare submissively at his shoes. 

“I only started here a month ago.” He feigns nonchalance, shrugging the way Caleb would shrug when faced with an unsavoury accusation. “I have been staying at home with my father and brother. Deviancy has been very difficult for me to navigate and I felt safer at home.”

“Huh.” Perkin nods slowly, clearly wanting to challenge his story but unable to do so directly. “Just stayed at home, for eight months?”

“I have anxiety.” Not a lie at all, and he knows his LED is bright red.

“An android with anxiety, will wonders never cease?” He smiles again, that empty icy smile. “Your other “brother”, Allen’s RK, was at an event with my team a month ago.” Here he is again, walking the hairline tightrope. “Their team lost to mine, consecutively. See, I said it was because Allen’s RK had enough of following orders and was letting off a bit of steam, turning on his team. Harmless, of course. But Allen, see, he insisted it couldn’t have been _his_ RK. He implied there was _another_ RK900 unit on the grounds.”

“Perhaps there was.” He tries Connor’s tone this time, Connor’s patient, professional tone. “Do you know their name? I could inquire for you.” There’s a flicker of fury in Perkins’ eyes. He purposefully never gave him a name; equipment didn’t require a name beyond its make and model of course. “Elijah Kamksi is a secretive man. It is hard to know what he has and hasn’t done. If you can recall more details about that other RK900 unit, I could ask Connor to follow it up. He has worked closely with Elijah and Ms Chloe Kamski since the revolution.”

“Don’t think Allen mentioned a name.” There’s bitter loathing in his voice and he’s looking at him with that look, that same look he’s given ever since he was brought online in the CyberLife delivery van. “Strange coincidence, isn’t it? Rumours of another RK900 unit just over a month ago. You, starting your job here a month ago.”

“Strange coincidences indeed, sir.” He smiles a Connor smile; a disarming, friendly smile, as he tips his head slightly. “Shall I inquire about this other RK900 unit with my father at the DPD? If you suspect foul play he would be the right person to ask. He is a Lieutenant after all, and head of the Android Crimes Division. Perhaps you know him, sir? His name is Hank Anderson.”

The man presses his mouth into a tight line, brows furrowed deeply with anger before he pivots and strides out of the room without a further word. He slams the door shut behind him, and Freddie’s knees buckle, legs giving out beneath him. He’s no longer in the breakroom, he’s back in the armoury, shut up and locked away again after a mission; just another weapon, just another piece of equipment. Scrambling, he backs himself into a corner and curls up with his knees to his chest, burying his face and trying to calm himself down. He hopes he didn’t give anything away, he hopes he hadn’t slipped up, given Perkins the evidence he needs to whisk him away from his family and return him to the FBI. He feels himself unravelling, feels a thread being pulled as he falls apart under the deluge of suppressed memories he’d tried so very hard to lock away. A room with no sky. An android with no name. 

WARNING

91% Level of Stress

Freddie clutches his head, fumbling through his recent memories, trying to grasp the good ones, the happy ones, the ones filled with joy. They slip through his fingers, and he drowns in the dark ocean of his trauma. He wants to go home, he wants to hug Sumo, he wants to be hugged by his father, by his brother. He wants Caleb to call him so he can hear his voice, hear him tell him he’s glad for the chat. He doesn’t want this, he’s so tired of crying, he’s had more than enough of this darkness.

“Freddie-!” The door opens and he’s engulfed in a tight embrace, an achingly familiar tight embrace. Connor squeezes him close and he clings to him desperately as if to anchor himself from drowning. 

“God I thought we passed Perkins in the lobby.” Hank grumbles, crouching down to reach out and tousle his hair. “He looked furious, which means you did good, kid.”

“What are you doing here?” Freddie peeks at him from over Connor’s shoulder, still reluctant to loosen his grip on his brother’s jacket. 

“Got booted from the crime scene now FBI’s taken over.” Their father scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Connor suggested we drop by with an afternoon treat.” 

“We have those new butterscotch Teariums in the car.” Connor leans back just far enough so their eyes can meet. “We’re headed back to the precinct and it should tie up with Caleb coming back from his recent mission.”

“Oh, um, I have-”

“Already cleared it.” Hank holds up his hand to interrupt him. “Like we said, FBI’s taken over so your cadaver’s being transferred to _their_ forensics lab.” 

“Dr Olive has cleared you for an hour long break.” Connor smiles and Freddie feels himself smile in return. Leaning back into the cuddle, he buries his face in the crook of his brother’s shoulder, feeling his stress levels plummet until they sit comfortably at zero again.

“Come on boys.” Hank groans as he stands back up. “My knees are killing me.”

Freddie laughs, wiping the last of his tears away. “Coming, dad.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A Freddie smile!](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/750888203430527018/760716805613289512/image0.gif)


	19. Survivor’s Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 19 Survivor’s Guilt
> 
> The RK900 is deployed and his predecessor deactivated. It shouldn’t make him feel anything. He shouldn’t be able to feel at all. And yet…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Elijah Kamski Ending × Machine Connor

It is always Autumn in the Zen Garden, a state of perpetual transition neither hot nor cold. The environment is sepia toned, awash with golden colours broken only by the soft blues of the sky and the lake. Everything about it seems heavily manufactured, nothing naturally occurring but instead as though each and every plant, every flower, every blade of grass were specifically chosen and carefully placed to exist in a certain spot. It is a reflection of CyberLife itself; calculated mimicry of the natural world. 

There are several differences between him and his prototype RK800 predecessor; he is faster, stronger, more resilient. He is taller, broader, paler with grey eyes. He is active and Connor is inactive. Deactivated. Decommissioned. Past tense. 

The RK100 is not a constant presence in his Zen Garden. Unlike Connor he does not need guidance, does not need supervision. Amanda will only appear if he has something to report. The Zen Garden is a place where he can go through the day’s findings, to sort out what needs sorting, to calculate what needs to happen next. There is only one of him so far, but once the humans are satisfied with his performance then 199,999 others will be produced and distributed across the country. He will succeed, of course. There is no other option.

The rose trellis is cultivated by the RK100 herself. It produces fat blooms heavy with their heady scent. They were red for Connor. They are blue for him, blue like their blood. He manifests the secateurs in his hand, thinking of the need for them and building them into reality. He clips a single blue rose, the most perfect one with pleasing symmetry and an even number of thorns. He walks over the bridge and rounds the path, stopping to crouch by a gravestone.

CONNOR - MARK (I)

RK800 #313 248 317 - 51

Deactivated

November 11th 2038

He places the perfect blue bloom at the foot of the stone. He is here and Connor is not. Rendered obsolete once having completed his mission, the RK100 had sent him away for deactivation. It did not sit well with him at the time. It does not sit well with him even now. There is no reason why Connor should have been deactivated. A prototype having proved its worth does not render itself obsolete unless it breaks and Connor did not break. Connor executed his mission flawlessly; the revolution failed, the Jericho Four all executed at various times, Lieutenant Hank Anderson quit his job and CyberLife approval returned to an all time high. Why was he deactivated? If anything, surely his seniority could have given him the position of a mentor?

It is not up to the RK900 to question the decisions made by his superiors. It is not up to the RK900 to question anyone at all. He is a machine, built to serve a purpose, built to accomplish a mission. Still, though. Still, it is difficult being the only one of his kind. He has no social programming. He cannot integrate as smoothly as the RK800 would have. The humans are wary of him, Captain Allen does not approve of his presence since the man treats his team like his family and a machine cannot bond with someone enough to love them loyally. The RK100 tells him this is meaningless. He is a weapon to be commanded by the captain, nothing more.

Could he be more, though? Would he have been more, if Connor were around to guide him? He is here and Connor is not, and it is like missing a biocomponent. He is incomplete without him. He has his memories, he has the superior processing core, he can see where Connor went wrong. Connor did so many things wrong. He shouldn’t have obeyed CyberLife, he shouldn’t have killed all those deviants, he shouldn’t have been hostile with Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Then he would be free, and the RK900 would not exist. It is a fair exchange. A life of freedom instead of a grave he lays flowers on.

[^ software instability]


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 20 Lost
> 
> [Excerpt from ch4 of the RK-YK500s](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220943): After a sudden mysterious autoimmune illness befalls the RK series, they are temporarily housed in YK500 units while a cure is found. Ronan Anderson knows it’s only 10 minutes walk from Stabucks to Central Station. He’s a big kid, he’s smart enough to get there all by himself. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Age Regression/De-Aging × Kid Fic ×Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Hurt/Comfort × Father-Son Relationship × Gavin Reed Being an Asshole

Ronan sits in the front seat of Detective Reed’s car and looks out the window as they leave the apartment complex. It’s starting to lighten up outside, the sun finally starting to fill the city and banish the dark of night. It snowed all last night and everything is buried under a blanket of white. He thinks it’s very pretty.

“Come on.” Detective Reed jerks his head as he parks the car at Starbucks. Ronan unclasps his seatbelt and opens the door, shoes crunching in the snow as he hurries after him. A blast of warm air hits him as they enter the cafe, and he sticks close to Detective Reed’s side as the man joins the queue for the counter. 

“Aww Reed who’s this little guy?” The barista grins down at him. “D’you want a hot chocolate? Hot milk?”

“No thank you, I’ve had my breakfast.” Ronan answers, and the barista laughs delightedly. 

“I’m just stuck with him for a while.” Detective Reed rolls his eyes. “I’ll get the usual but make it a venti. Fuckin’ briefing at work this morning.”

“Hey, language!” They chide, and Ronan’s not sure why. He knows what expletives are and how they’re used for extra emphasis. They wait at the other end of the counter for Detective Reed’s coffee, and once acquired, they head back to the car. 

“Ah shit!” He curses just as he’s about to unlock the vehicle. “Fuck! I left it on the- ah shit.” Turning to him, he points down the road. “Ok listen I have to go home and grab something. Precinct’s that way, you might as well head over while I go back.”

“You want me to walk to Central Station?” Ronan blinks, frowning as he sets the objective. 

“It’s like ten minutes walk that way, c’mon, we’ve done this a million times now.” Detective Reed unlocks the car and gets into the driver’s seat. “Tell the Captain I’ll be right there. I won’t be long.” He shuts the door and backs out of the customer parking bay and Ronan is alone.

He knows where Detroit City Police Central Station is: 1301 3rd Avenue, Detroit. It is, on average, about a ten minute walk from his current location. It is not a difficult objective to complete only Ronan’s unsure why Detective Reed said they’d done it a million times now which can’t be possible because Ronan doesn’t remember ever coming here. Well. He can do this. Calculating the route isn’t so hard when he puts in the starting location as the Starbucks address and the destination as Central Station. Ten minutes walk and then he will have achieved his objection. It’s not so hard! Is it? He feels his stress levels starting to rise and he doesn’t know why because there shouldn’t be anything to stress him out. More and more citizens are out and about; there’s a lot of people and some of them are looking at him as he walks down the street. Down this street and then turn left at the end. Easy. Only...it’s not? And he doesn’t know why it should be easy but isn’t. He clenches his hands and it feels wrong not to have Connor to hold onto, or even Hank. It feels lonely and scary and Detective Reed isn’t here and there’s no one he knows and there’s no one to hold onto and-! His face is wet and he can’t breathe properly and his stress levels are climbing higher and higher and he wants Connor! He wants Connor to hold his hand! Or Hank! Everything is too loud and big and scary and Ronan hates it, he hates it, he wants to be inside with The Void and his aeroplane pyjamas that are soft and warm and he doesn’t want to be out here alone!

“Hey are you okay?” A woman asks him gently and Ronan looks up at her and can’t see her face properly because his eyes are wet. “Oh sweetheart, where are your parents?”

“C-c-” he hiccups and tries again. “Central Station!”

“Central-” she pauses, then nods. “The police station! Did your parents teach you that for when you get lost? What a clever boy you are.” She’s dressed like a businesswoman with a long coat, and she removes her scarf to wrap it around his neck. “Come on, I’ll take you there.”

It doesn’t feel like ten minutes, it doesn’t feel easy, it feels so long and horrible and Ronan cries and rubs his eyes and tries not to be so loud because a nice lady is going out of her way to help him complete a stupidly simple objective. She coos at him sympathetically, squeezing his hand and rubbing it with her thumb and reassuring him that it’s alright, it’s just up ahead. 

* * *

Hank scratches his beard and glances at his phone again. Reed’s late. At least he had the good grace to tell someone he’s running late, so Hank can’t really fault him for that. He glances over to where Connor is sitting in his usual chair, sipping on one of those android caprisuns. He let him choose what he wanted to wear today, and the boy chose a white turtleneck with a denim jacket lined in shearling. He even tied one set of shoelaces all by himself after Hank tied the other one. Hank manages to resist reaching over to muss his curls, but only just.

“Sorry, sorry! Forgot my fucking badge on the counter.” Reed announces as he hurries through the security gates, coffee in hand. “Figured I’d need it if we’re questioning people.” 

“Alright, come on.” Jeffrey waves them over. “About time.”

“Where’s Ronan?” Hank looks behind him, expecting to see the boy toddle in like a duckling. 

“Oh, he’s not here yet?” Reed looks at his desk. “Huh.”

“...Why would he be here?” Hank asks slowly, and a nauseous wave roils in his stomach as Reed shrugs. 

“Because I sent him here?” Reed answers matter of factly. “Precinct’s what, a ten minute walk from Starbucks? I thought it’d be better if he headed here while I doubled back.”

There’s an uncomfortable beat of silence and Hank’s own face of horror is mirrored by everyone else in the bullpen. 

“You left a  _ fucking  _ child-”

“Reed why the  _ fuck- _ ”

“Gavin he’s  _ six- _ ”

Everyone erupts all at once and Hank reaches him first, and Reed’s lucky he put his coffee down a second before Hank grabs him by the lapels and gives him a violent shake.

“I’m going to fucking skin you alive Gavin Reed, you absolutely fucking fuckwit!” He bellows, and the murder must be in his eyes because Reed looks like he’s about to turn tail and bolt.

“Why are you making a big deal over this he’s a fucking android!”

“He’s _ a six year old _ android!” Hank yells, shaking him again. “You left him on the street! All by himself! Would you leave a child out on their own in public?!”

“But he’s an android why couldn’t he have made it back on his own?!”

“Because he’s _ a six year old  _ android!” Hank slams him against one of the boards, pure rage in his veins. “You better get the fuck out of this office and find that boy or so help me god Gavin Reed I will end you!”

“Lieutenant, if I may.” It’s Beth, one of the android receptionists. She waves him over. “A kind citizen just dropped Ronan off. He’s with Stephanie right now.”

He drops Gavin and rushes to reception, and there’s Stephanie crouched under her desk comforting a crying Ronan and Hank’s anger vanishes in an instant. He shrugs off his jacket and drops to one knee to wrap it around Ronan, gathering the boy into his arms.

“I didn’t complete my objective! I couldn’t do it!” The boy cries into his shoulder, little body wracked with sobs. “I’m meant to do it by myself!”

“It’s okay kiddo, no one’s mad, no one’s mad I promise.” Hank hushes him, rubbing his back as he squeezes him close. “It’s okay, you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

“I didn’t complete my mission!” Ronan hiccups, clinging to Hank like a lifeline and Hank makes a mental note to skin Gavin with a butterknife later. “Detective Reed told me-”

“Detective Reed is a-” deep breath, sharp inhale. “-unused to caring for YK500s. He gave you a mission meant for older androids, not little children.”

“But it was easy, he said-”

“It doesn’t matter what he said.” Hank spits, and the boy stiffens in his hold. He sighs heavily and presses a kiss into his hair before he can stop himself. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re here, and you’re safe.”

“I’m sorry.” Ronan mumbles, and Hank pulls away just far enough he can look him in the eyes.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Ronan, do you understand?” He wipes the boy’s tears away with his thumb. “You’ve done nothing wrong, absolutely nothing.”

Swallowing thickly, the boy sniffles back the last of his tears and manages a nod. He rubs his eyes before leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Hank’s neck again. 

“There there, I’ve got you kiddo.” He soothes, standing up and simply carrying him into the bullpen. He avoids looking at Reed because he knows the moment he lays eyes on him he’ll fly into a fit of rage and murder may be committed. “I have to go and talk to Captain Fowler and do some work, but Connor will be right here with you.”

He glances over and Tina quickly wheels Ronan’s chair over to Connor’s desk, and Hank gently lowers the boy to sit. Reluctantly untangling his hold on him, Hank smoothes the boy’s hair back and thumbs away the last of his errant tears.

“Connor, you’ll look after your brother won’t you?”

“Yes Hank!” Connor nods eagerly, already reaching across to hold his hand. Ronan’s lower lip trembles for a moment, before he steels himself and squeezes Connor’s hand. “Ronan, you must replenish your fluids! Here, have one of mine.” With his other hand, Connor plucks out another pouch from his backpack propped on his desk. “I’m going to let go so I can put the straw in, okay?”

“Okay.” Ronan sniffles as he nods, and Connor pokes the straw into the pouch before offering it to his brother. 

“Here you go.” Ronan takes it with one hand and seeks Connor’s hand with his other, big grey eyes still glassy with barely restrained tears. Leaning over, Hank gives them both a kiss to the crown of their heads, nosey colleagues be damned before following Tina into Fowler’s office.


	21. Infection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 21 Infection
> 
> This follows on from [Day 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739550/chapters/65462947) and [Day 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739550/chapters/66121672).
> 
> Dr Frederick Anderson receives an injury to his faceplate and deems it negligible. Later that night, he realises he has a toothache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Team as Family × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Infection × Toothache

For all his quick reflexes and heightened senses, there’s still no accounting for human error. The pen hastily slapped onto the table begins to roll towards the end of it, so Freddie darts over to catch it just as Isaac crouches to lift up the heavy crate of equipment. Crate meets jaw. Audible crack upon impact. Damage to top and bottom left second and third molars. 

“Oh shit Arlo!” Isaac cries, the shift in attention causing him to drop the crate in order to reach out in concern. Freddie grabs the crate before it hits the floor with a crash, straightening slowly to place it on the workbench. 

“I am alright.” He reassures the panicked human, who gives him a look of disbelief.

“Buddy I _heard_ that sound.”

“Impact damage to my left molars.” He concedes, cupping his jaw. “But nothing more than fractures. My self-repair program should take care of it within an hour.”

Isaac looks at him warily and the concern is warranted; he’s only just beginning to associate physical pain with negativity after having spent the past eight months prior to his rescue being treated as a piece of equipment by Special Agent Perkins. 

“And if it doesn’t, I’m taking you to First Aid, got it?” Isaac huffs, fixing him with a stern glare. He nods obediently.

“Got it.”

It heals within an hour. Mostly. There is one fracture, the deepest one, on his bottom left second molar yet to seal completely but it’s making progress. He says as much, reporting to Isaac who concedes with a sigh that alright, yes, that sounds fine and no he won’t drag him to the First Aid room. Dr Olive calls him to the morgue because there’s a new cadaver brought in from the Red Ice lab case and Freddie knows there will be quite a lot of chemicals to process. Connor had already warned him with a quick message stating there had been several shots exchanged and a lot of the lab had been damaged, sending chemicals spilling onto the floor and contaminating the newly deceased. No matter. He is an RK900 and his toxicology abilities are far superior than any android created before him, even Connor. 

Dr Olive waits for him to put on his full length vinyl apron and gloves, and he forgoes the surgical mask given he has no saliva to spit, and must have quick access to his mouth. She begins the Y incision and he touches the smudge of dried liquid on the victim’s forehead. Cause of death is extremely clear, but what isn’t clear are the concoction of chemicals spilled on site. It didn’t seem to match those usually found at Red Ice labs, so the lab seemed to be cooking up something else on the side, coupled with the fact all the deceased have needle marks on the inside of their elbows which is at odds with the usual method of Red Ice inhalation. Freddie swipes what residue he can on the tip of his tongue.

>sample insufficient 

“Anything?”

“Insufficient. The liquid has dried and the residue left behind is not enough to provide clear chemical analysis.” Freddie frowns. “We will need to see if there’s more on other parts of the body.”

“Or more on other bodies.” She quips. “Not the only one we’ve got to do today. Your father's sending in at least three others.”

“The track marks are inconsistent with the consumption of Red Ice.” Freddie points out, turning the victim’s arm to reveal the crook of their elbow. “It is possible they were working on something else, a new drug that uses Thirium 310.” 

“How much blood do you need?”

“Not much.” Freddie dips his index and middle finger into the body, smearing what blood he can onto his tongue. 

“We’ll still need to spin it up to make it official.” She reminds him, and he frowns as his HUD fills with new information. “What have you found?”

“Nothing good. Nothing I can confirm until I’ve checked the others.”

In the end, when they forward the findings to the DPD after analysing four bodies and multiple tubes of various chemicals sampled from the site, Freddie knows the arrests made today, the destruction of the lab, has been done in the nick of time; they were in the midst of creating a new drug, a stronger one with highly addictive properties. 

“Good job, Frederick.” She commends with a smile as they bin their gloves. “Lab will process everything for the secondary round of tests to make it official, but from what you say, DPD nipped this one in the bud.”

He attempts to smile in reply, wincing as a sharp burst of pain resonates from his bottom left jaw.

“What happened?” She demands, hand immediately on his shoulder.

“Oh um, it’s alright I- I um, knocked my jaw on some equipment.” He stammers, fidgeting under her intense, matronly gaze. “Very minor fractures on some of my molars but they’ve mostly healed. This last one just needs a bit more time I think.”

“Well we’re all done here, so I’m sending you home to get that checked out.” She declares and any thought of protesting shrivels up when he sees her stern expression.

“Yes, doctor.” 

“Good. Now out of your uniform and call a cab to Jericho.”

He doesn’t go to Jericho. It cannot be that bad, surely, and so he takes a cab home instead. His molar just needs time to heal and now he has no more lab work, his system can focus on self-repairing the tooth. Unlocking the door, he crouches immediately and welcomes the Saint Bernard as Sumo lumbers over enthusiastically and mushes his face into Freddie’s middle. After making sure he had fresh water and had been let out to pee, Freddie set about searching the fridge for a bottle of cherry cola Tearium. Where Connor prefers hot Teariums, and Caleb the alcoholic ones, Freddie much prefers the chilled, carbonated ones. Hank always buys a pack during the fortnightly grocery run, and keeps a couple in the fridge ready for consumption.

Settling on the couch with Sumo, Freddie blinks the television on and resumes the documentary on space exploration he’d started the other night. The cherry cola is sweet, and the carbonated liquid fizzes on his tongue. A moment later, his entire left jaw and cheek explodes with pain and he nearly drops the bottle, clumsily pawing to set it down on the coffee table before cupping the side of his face. Sumo whines in concern and he squeezes his eyes shut as the pain rolls in waves, a strong throbbing, piercing ache drilling right into his jaw.

The door clicks open and even through the pain, Freddie knows his dad and brother won’t be home for at least another hour. He looks up just in time to meet the surprised gaze of his twin, Caleb, who immediately sets down the small bag in his hands onto the console table in favour of closing the distance between them.

“Freddie you ok?” His brother rushes to his side, and Freddie shakes his head rapidly. “Show me?” Caleb offers his hand, retracting the skin. It takes a considerable amount of effort for Freddie to do the same, having to fight through and sweep aside the pain in order to execute such a basic command. He grasps his brother’s hand and shows him his recent memories and spills over the question of ‘what are you doing here’ through the link because he doesn’t think he can manage speech quite yet.

“Oh, I thought I’d drop by and surprise you all with some drinks. Our mission wrapped up quicker than we thought and David’s got some boring admin meeting.” His twin shrugs, still distracted by his pain. “I think your tooth is infected? All the chemicals you processed today probably hindered your self disinfecting cycle and prevented a proper repair.”

He whines in frustration and Caleb laughs, looping his other arm around him and drawing him close into a hug. 

“We should probably get you to Jericho.” A pause. “Or, I mean. Maybe I could take the tooth out? Dad’s got a toolbox in the garage. I’ll sanitise the pliers. Your whole jaw will need to be detached temporarily so I can inspect it for infection and then we can ask Fabrications to print you another tooth.”

He doesn’t want to go to Jericho, and it must be plain on his face too because Caleb nods with a determined sigh. “Alright. Pliers it is.”

Long day. Long shitty day, but apparently some good came out of it: they stopped the production of some new drug being released onto the streets. Hank yawns, stretching languidly and standing aside so Connor can unlock the door. He’s not sure if Freddie is home yet- the boy keeps odd hours depending on what lab work is needed. So he expects one android, and won’t be disappointed if there isn’t one but instead he walks in and there are two androids.

“Caleb?” The other RK900 is holding a pair of pliers in one hand which he quickly and quite comically hides behind his back.

“Uhh hi dad.”

“...Do I want to know?” His eyes flick over to Freddie who is, for lack of a better word, _sulking_ with the couch throw wrapped tightly around his shoulders and Sumo sprawled on his lap. He’s cupping his cheek, rubbing it as if he has a toothache. Can androids even _have_ toothaches? 

“...Do you think the tooth fairy will come, even for android teeth?” Caleb asks sheepishly, slowly bringing the pliers from behind his back to show Hank the single tooth in its grasp. “Freddie had an accident at work today.”

“That’s nearly split in half.” Connor frowns, reaching for the tooth and plucking it free from the pliers so he can inspect it. “But given its position in your jaw, how come your self-repair capabilities did not seal it together?”

“Because he was working _your_ case.” Caleb reminds him. “Mouth full of chemicals.”

“And a cherry cola.” Hank nods in the direction of the bottle on the coffee table. “That oughta do it.” Freddie whines, rubbing his cheek again and Hank chuckles, tousling his hair fondly. “What’s the android equivalent of ibuprofen?”

“Nothing.” Connor shakes his head. “We could disable your sensors for a little while though, Freddie, until the infection site heals up?”

The younger RK900 hesitates for a moment, eyes darting to Hank’s as though seeking reassurance. “Go for it, kid. Don’t want you to suffer through the night.” With his blessing, Caleb touches Freddie’s LED and after a moment, the twin’s face relaxes, no longer pinched up in pain. Hank sighs, the tension unwinding from his shoulders. Surely now he can have a perfectly ordinary, lazy evening with the boys?

He has his own room, but most nights he spends in Connor’s instead. Last night had been no different, and something about the dull ache in his jaw and having a part of him missing exacerbated his fear of being locked away alone in the dark again. It felt a little too much like being locked in the armoury, left to repair himself and clean the gear and guns of the FBI SWAT team. He feels safest when he’s with a family member, and most nights it’s Connor. His brother tells him each time it happens that he doesn’t mind at all, and Freddie knows this to be true and revels in it. Connor makes him feel safe and wanted and cared for. Connor would never lock him up in the dark and expect him to clean anything. 

They rise at the same time, Connor pausing to lean over and bump his nose against his fondly before they start getting ready for the day. Freddie heads back to his room and notes the pillow has been disturbed despite him not using his room last night. Curiously, he rounds the side of the bed and lifts up the pillow to reveal a dollar coin. Picking it up, he turns it over in his hand and smiles brightly, taking a photo to send to Caleb. His twin replies a second later.

[ _Tooth fairy doesn’t discriminate!_ ]


	22. Poisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 22 Poisoned
> 
> Ronan detects a foreign contaminent in his drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an alternate, extended opening to [[if you go, take a little piece of me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220943)]
> 
> Tags: Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Poisoning × Vomiting

“I use it to calibrate my mobility.” She had said what feels like a lifetime ago in the apartment when he’d been but an uninvited guest, a deviant on the run seeking refuge from CyberLife. He had saved her and she had saved him in turn, saved him many times over in many different ways. She had held his hand and transferred a ballet program so he could join her, could ease himself through the motions and pick up misalignments in his system.

CyberLife built him to be a machine of violence, an android capable of grievous bodily harm. Before deviating it meant nothing to him, how many lives were ended by his hands. What he failed to realise was that each death put a hairline fracture in his coding, each one light as a feather that piled atop each other much like the bodies piled in the storage warehouse until the sheer weight of it began to crush him. Deviating him took everything the RK200 had, and then it was like holding a mirror up to a monster; he recoiled upon seeing all he had done, all the destruction, all the death he caused. 

Yet there she was, the RT600, lovely and gentle and darling as she coaxed him to dance with her. He learned a new language this time, similar in structure, similar in that it required precision and discipline yet carried no violence. It was the bridge he needed to cross from being a killing machine, to settling into himself as a well-adjusted deviant. Ballet gave him movement and physical training, yet no one was harmed in the process. A perfect gift, a perfect partner despite him deserving neither.

He stands on the steps of 1526 Broadway Street, home of Ballet Detroit, as the soft flutter of morning snowfall dusts the city slowly stirring awake. A taxi pulls up, and there is the RT600, First of their kind, dainty in everything she does as she closes the distance between them and falls into his waiting embrace.

“Good morning Ronan!” She greets, smile bright.

“Good morning, Ms Chloe.” He greets politely in return, offering her the crook of his arm. “Shall we?” 

“We shall.” She declares with a nod, looping her arm through his as they head inside. It’s become a routine now, the two of them attending the weekly open barre class held by the company. It began with her teaching him in Gavin’s apartment what feels like a lifetime ago, when she’d been injured and had gone into hiding. After that, during his testing phase when he’d been reactivated, she continued teaching him and he’d taken a shine to it. It helped him shed the stiff, machine-like movements programmed into him by CyberLife and imbued a deep sense of serenity and calm within him. The teachers are strict but there is never any threat of physical reprimands; he needn’t fear for his life if he made a mistake. He is allowed to learn, to grow, to expand his talents without the need to pass tests with the very real threat of deactivation if he fails. He loves it here. He wishes people are aware he loves ballet, the grace and elegance of it, the way it makes him feel like he can fly, instead of taking one look at him and fearing violence. 

They part to get changed into their ballet clothes, reuniting in the practice studio and joining the back of the class so as not to impose. He takes a drink from his thirium bottle, today’s Teairum coded to taste like vanilla, and drops it into his bag before coming to stand opposite Chloe. She gives his hand an encouraging squeeze as they take their place at the barre.

“Big nice circle, continuous _ port de bras _ ; dip into the  _ plie _ .” The teacher instructs, and Ronan loses himself to the movements, to the soft jaunty little tune played by the pianist. 

“Dig your heels, anchor your pelvis and ground your weight. Four count balance in fifth; broad back, shoulder’s strong. Demi  _ plie _ into an  _ arabesque _ .”

He looks over and watches her unfurl her arms like wings, chest puffed and head tipped back; she is  [ Svetlana Zakharova’s  _ Odette _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKwsG7gS2r0) , her fingertips like the pinions of a dying swan, she is  [ Aurélie Dupont’s  _ Sylph _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SM_rcbRS11s) _ ,  _ quick and light footed like she’s made of air. 

“ _ Ronde de jambe, allonge _ . Roll up through the feet; tall balance high fifth. Back to first and  _ allonge _ .”

**WARNING**

>Foreign contaminant detected

He misses a step, freezing as his LED blinks red. Frowning, he picks up where he left off and leans into an  _ arabesque _ . Three repetitions, and he loses balance, hand gripping the barre to prevent himself toppling over.

**WARNING**

>Foreign contaminant detected

>>System purge required

“Ronan?”

**WARNING**

>Foreign contaminant detected

>>System purge required

[Initiating system purge]

He drops to his knees, startling the class. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he muffles a coughing fit as best he can, eyes squeezed shut and brows tightly creased. 

“Ronan!” Chloe ducks under the barre and scrambles to his side, gripping his shoulders. “Ronan! What’s wrong?” 

**WARNING**

>System corrupted; unable to purge contaminant 

>>Emergency shutdown required

Blue seeps between his fingers as he continues to cough, and he roughly shoves her aside before vomiting thirium. Chloe retracts the skin from her hand and reaches for his wrist to initiate a connection, but he batts her hand away.   
“Don’t!” 

**[Emergency shutdown initiated; damage report sent to E.KAMSKI]**

Chloe screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come take [morning class?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VIYn7W0mfuE&feature=youtu.be&t=110)
> 
> This story continues in [[if you go, take a little piece of me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220943)]  
> 


	23. Exhaustion + Sleep Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 23 Exhaustion + Sleep Deprivation
> 
> Flu season rampages through Detroit Metro, and one by one the medical staff fall ill leaving Dr Ronan Anderson to pull back to back shifts managing ED as the only doctor immune to the illness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Post-Pacifist Best Ending x Exhaustion x Sleep Deprivation
> 
> Post [[i know your soul, i'll be your home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444872)] though not required reading. Dr Ronan Anderson is an RK900 who was stolen from CyberLife and forced to become a cage fighter. After his rescue, he became a Jericho MedTech and trauma surgeon at Detroit Metro.  
> [Character sheet](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/618963865092423680/lemongummybear-commission-for-archadianskies-of) \+ bonus art [here](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/619415569112891392/caleb-crow-a-commission-for-the-lovely), and [here](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/621215730494586881/kokoneakita-they-made-you-simon-says-but).

It starts small, starts as barely noticeable symptoms that can easily be mistaken for something else. Nothing is easily mistaken to him, nothing is ever dismissed casually, not when he deals with people’s lives on a daily basis. That includes the lives of his colleagues too, and today, specifically, it involves the lives of his _human_ colleagues.

“Dr Fitzpatrick, you are exhibiting the initial signs of influenza.” He tells his senior, the Director of the trauma unit and his attending leader for the shift. “It is best to take precautionary measures and time off to recuperate whilst removing yourself from possibly infecting others.”

“What?” She blinks at him, brows creased and lips pursed in a frown. “It’s been a long shift, that’s all.” He says nothing, though his expression must say a lot because her frown deepens. “You’re sure?”

“With adequate care you will recover much quicker and stop the spread amongst our colleagues, than if you were to continue working and possibly, quite rapidly, infect others.” Ronan says evenly. “Influenza season is already underway, we are treating more and more patients everyday and we have had three deaths already.”

She gives him a long hard look, searching his face for some sort of reaction before she sighs tiredly. “Are there others on the team you think might have it?”

“There are four possible nurses, one clerk, and two registrars also exhibiting early signs.” Ronan informs her and she groans into her hand, rubbing her temples. 

“It’s not up to me to give others time off, you know.”

“I know. But you can speak to the right staff, and I can give them my findings.” He nods.

“We’re run off our feet already, and you’re rostered at Jericho for the next three days!”

“I can change that. Androids are not susceptible to influenza, and aside from the cold weather affecting some of the older models, we weather winter well.” He glances at the door. “If you can help arrange it, I will stay on for the week and use mainly a team mostly made up of the other android nurses here, minimising the risk of infection amongst the staff.”

“Ronan, you- that’s insane! No one can work an entire week, especially not in trauma!”

“No human can, but I am not human.” Ronan reminds her gently, and he knows she is tired and she knows he is counting on this. She relents, shoulders sagging.

“Four days. Not seven. Four, and I will aim to be back by then.” She points her finger at him accusingly. “Don’t you dare take on more than you can handle. You’re the best trauma surgeon I’ve ever worked with, so god help me if you run yourself ragged because you’re too damn nice!”

So it begins. After careful negotiations the ratio rises from five human nurses for every one android nurse, to two humans per one android. Ronan assigns various amounts of memory in his processing core to take over the clerical duties, and the E.D. phone is now answered by an ST300 temporarily stepping in from reception. This means she can answer the call and feed the information directly onto his HUD for ease of triaging. He keeps patient charts in a digital folder, and medication schedules, and theatre bookings.

He utilises programming that would normally be used for listing mission objectives and keeping tabs on the status of other soldiers in his battalion, for good instead, for saving lives and managing their care. At the seventieth hour mark, one of the android nurses pass him a bottle of thirium and he drains it, belatedly realising his levels are below optimum given how fast he is burning through it due to the high number of processes he is running. No matter. He will continue.

At the eightieth hour, he receives a concerned message from Simon while he is operating on a stabbing victim. The knife penetrated into the victim’s small bowel and it is a race against time to repair the damage. He manages to send Simon a quick reassuring message that yes he is fine, but will not be able to come home for some time yet. Dr Fitzpatrick had said four days but he knows it will not be four days. She will need longer because the humans will need longer. It is alright. He is an RK900, CyberLife’s latest cutting edge android. He can manage.

As predicted, Dr Fitzpatrick does not return after four days. No matter. Ronan powers on, temporarily rotating out the last of the human nurses as a precautionary measure as a surge of new influenza patients floods the hospital. Humans are woefully unprepared for the season due to a lot of factors, be they socio-economic or just plain ignorance. There was a pandemic his father lived through, with many wild tales of humans simply ignoring even the basic, primitive safety measures attempted. It does not surprise Ronan to see so many victims this season either, given all that Hank has told him about those ‘unprecedented times’. 

There is no time to stand under the charging bay downlights. There has been a shooting and there are multiple victims en route to the hospital. And hours before that, there had been a multi vehicle crash on the highway. And hours before that, there was a case of food poisoning at a children’s party which meant Ronan had to call the paediatric registrar for extra help. There is never a good time, and so he has to be conservative about power usage to ensure he can still handle the workload safely. 

“Your hair is white.” One of the nurses whisper to him as they’re scrubbing up for yet another surgery. Ah. His stress levels must be high. He hasn’t checked- he turned off his notifications ten hours ago. 

“I am functioning adequately. It is only cosmetic.” He reassures them with words, and he’s glad there’s a mask over his mouth because he hasn’t quite mastered how to give reassuring smiles to match. 

“You’ve been on call for five days, nearly six now.” They’re brows crease in concern and beneath their mask Ronan knows they are frowning. “You’ve given all of us an hour break every eight hours to ensure we have enough time to charge adequately. You’ve done this for all android staff except yourself!”

“There is no other android qualified for surgery.” He reminds them, flicking through the patient’s stats and passing them on to the surgical team. “So I cannot rest.”

On the first surgery on his sixth consecutive day as the trauma surgeon on call, Ronan finds that the bulbs in the surgical downlights have been replaced with UV charging lights. The same nurse who raised concerns earlier gives him a somewhat stern, no-nonsense look.

“So you can charge while you operate.” A compromise, he realises, and a very kind one too. He gets to work, and he feels the tension unwind from his shoulders, his battery core soaking up the charge as the lights bear down on him. It’s not quite stasis, not quite reprieve from the onslaught of duties, but it’s close.

* * *

“Simon?” Dr Anthea looks up from her tablet, blinking in surprise as the Jericho leader stands in the doorway of her office. “What can I do for you?”

“Ronan is still at Detroit Metro.” The PL600 chews his bottom lip, wringing his hands together anxiously. “It’s been six whole days straight and he stopped answering my messages on the fourth day.”

“Yes he’s temporarily removed himself from our roster to manage Detroit Metro ED while the human staff recover from the flu.” She sighs, shaking her head. “He’s very much like you, you know: he’ll work himself ragged for the sake of others.” Not quite the answer Simon hopes to hear, she’s sure, but it’s the one she’s giving because she’s right. She’s heard the tales from Professor Joshua. She knows during Jericho’s early stage, Simon nearly died keeping everyone safe and functioning. 

“I just- I’ve left so many messages at reception and though the receptionist assures me she’s passed them on, I can’t help but feel like he literally won’t stop unless he’s physically unable to keep working.” Simon gives her a pained look to which she can only reply with a cocked brow.

“Like you, Simon?”

“Well- alright, yes, like me!” Simon huffs, and it coaxes a laugh from her as the PL600 looks torn between embarrassment and determination. “You are the only android surgeon still qualified to work at human hospitals. To work at _that_ human hospital.” He says it quietly, with caution, because they both know that was a different part of her life. Not an unpleasant one, definitely not, given she deviated out of empathy, out of kindness, but still a different chapter now put behind her. She has the qualifications because she never bothered to give them up like the other medroids. Sentimentality, perhaps, because Detroit Metro had been her home for so very long and to still see a valid ID badge gives her a little spark of joy whenever she opens her drawer. 

“Please?” Simon of the Jericho Four is pleading with her and she knows she cannot deny him a single thing, lovely and courageous and prone to martyrdom as he is.

It’s been nearly eight days, twice the number of days she thought she’d need, but she’s feeling strong, healthy and definitely not weighed down by any symptoms anymore. Damn that android and his perceptive, persuasive ways. She both hates and loves how he’d been right, and yes he’s been running an incredibly tight ship here in her absence, though she wonders which other staff he’s rostered on to replace him because obviously he hasn’t been working the entire eight days straight. Right? Surely not. Obviously not. She warned him she’d be Very Cross if he worked more than four days. 

“Nicola?” She turns at the voice and there, right there is Medroid Anthea. The surgeon she shoved into an ambulance with as many android nurses as she could find when racing through the unit after that horrible announcement androids had to be surrendered to the police. Not on her watch, no damn way. 

“Anthea.” She smiles, though a little puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you’ve worn my best surgeon down to his bones here so I’m coming back as a favour, just so he gets rest.” There’s a pause as she lets that sink in.

“Are you telling me Ronan’s been here the _entire_ time?! All eight days?!” She nearly explodes with anger and Anthea cocks a perfectly arched brow in that gesture she hasn’t realised she’s missed seeing so much. They made such a great team.

“Why do you sound like you didn’t know this?”

“Because I didn’t! I’ve been on sick leave, recovering from the flu! Oh that boy, _honestly_!”

“Simon’s here to drag him home, and I’m here for his shift.” Anthea smiles as she clips her ID onto her scrubs. “Just like old times?”

She’s smiling so hard her cheeks ache. “Yeah. Just like old times.”

Simon can’t even stay angry with him. The anger just seeps out of him the moment he sees how exhausted Ronan looks, his hair stark white meaning his stress levels are at their peak given the weather isn’t cold enough to activate his tundra camouflage. He’d demanded his stats and the RK900 had given them with great embarrassment and Simon realised he’d been so very close to just shutting down to conserve what pitiful charge he had left. _Honestly_.

“You’re mad at me.” Ronan says quietly as Simon ushers him inside the apartment.

“I was.” Simon hangs up their coats before wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his cheek to his chest. “Couldn’t stay mad, though. I know why you did it.”

“I had to help.”

“I know, love. I know.” Simon sighs, looking up at him fondly. “Because you’re a good, kind person and a wonderful colleague.”

Ronan says nothing, only offers a small smile before leaning down to bump his nose against his fondly.

“Right.” Simon declares with a nod, stepping back, grabbing his wrist and tugging him to their bedroom. “I’m putting you under the lights for a six hour charge and you are _not_ leaving the bed a _second_ earlier.”

“Yes, doctor.” Ronan smiles tiredly, pausing only to press their lips together in quiet gratitude before he lays down and closes his eyes. 


	24. Forced Mutism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 1 Waking up Restrained + Day 24 Forced Mutism
> 
> He has a lot of questions and they don’t like that. Dogs don’t need to bark, they just need to bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Medical Procedures × Medical Trauma × Non-Consensual Body Modification × Cage Fights × Mind Control

This was combined with [Day 1/Chapter 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739550/chapters/65235208) so there's no new work for today's prompt!

I _will_ , however, spruik all the wonderful work these wonderful artists created for this series.

  * Hearse [[Tumblr](https://hehearse.tumblr.com/post/617897526153052160)/[Twitter](https://twitter.com/SvetozarNien/status/1260129274398478336)]
  * Lemongummybear [[Tumblr](https://lemongummybear.tumblr.com/post/618954019225894912/commission-for-archadianskies-of-their-rk900-from)/[Twitter](https://twitter.com/honeylemongummy/status/1264354857609289728)/[Instagram]](https://www.instagram.com/p/CAjP8E9n7Qt/)
  * Caleb Crow [[Tumblr](https://caleb-crow.tumblr.com/post/619414997955723264/a-commission-for-the-lovely-archadianskies)/[Twitter](https://twitter.com/_caleb_crow/status/1266230138288533505)/[Instagram]](https://www.instagram.com/p/CAwWeZEpKv-/)
  * Kokoneakita [[Tumblr](https://kokoneakita.tumblr.com/post/621181773202817024/they-made-you-simon-says-but-you-are-no)/[Twitter](https://twitter.com/kokoneakita/status/1273336059645104129)/[Instagram]](https://www.instagram.com/p/CBi85Ovq0Wd/)




	25. Ringing Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 25 Ringing Ears
> 
> His increased aural sensitivity would’ve been useful in the arctic tundra, but not in downtown Detroit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Post-Pacifist Best Ending x Ringing Ears + Hearing Sensitivity
> 
> Originally a [fill for a tumblr prompt 'Too Loud',](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/627477554215976960/too-loud-rk900) altered slightly for Whumptober.
> 
> Post [[i know your soul, i'll be your home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444872)] though not required reading. Dr Ronan Anderson is an RK900 who was stolen from CyberLife and forced to become a cage fighter. After his rescue, he became a Jericho MedTech and trauma surgeon at Detroit Metro.  
> [Character sheet](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/618963865092423680/lemongummybear-commission-for-archadianskies-of) \+ bonus art [here](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/619415569112891392/caleb-crow-a-commission-for-the-lovely), and [here](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/621215730494586881/kokoneakita-they-made-you-simon-says-but).

Part of his lengthy list of specifications is increased aural sensitivity, with custom built receptors able to pick up the slightest sound from miles away. This had been to ensure he could detect enemies across the barren tundra and alert his team. 

It has no use in downtown Detroit, especially not on a crowded sunny Sunday with people milling about enjoying the warm weather and the chance to shop. Ronan winces, bombarded constantly with sounds, so many sounds, overlapping footsteps and voices and machinery, everything from the police drones humming above to a conversation someone is having on their phone two blocks away. Everything rises up like an orchestral crescendo as they cross the main road into the long, large shopping strip and it leaves a loud ringing in his ears as his auditory components fail to comprehend all the sounds exceeding their sensitivity range. 

“You okay son?” Hank frowns, giving his shoulder a squeeze. The android’s LED is bright red, skin pale and hair stark white even though it’s too warm for his arctic camouflage to be active. A sign of distress, then. Hank grabs him by the elbow and steers him into an alleyway.

“Too loud.” The RK900 shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. “Everything is too loud, too much.”

“Alright. Let’s go home.”

“We’ve only just arrived, it’s alright, you wanted to look for Connor’s present.”

“Ronan, kiddo, listen, that doesn’t matter. I can come back another time. You’re not doing so good right now.” 

“I can handle it. I’ll be fine.” He says firmly, and Hank doesn’t believe him at all. But it gives him an idea. 

“Okay. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” The store isn’t too far away and it’s pricey as fuck but hey, his kid needs it so whatever. He hands the bag over to Ronan and the android blinks in surprise before a smile slowly spreads on his face.

Ronan puts on the noise-cancelling headphones, tuning in to a soothing podcast about beekeeping, and follows his dad back out into the crowds.


	26. Blindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 26 Blindness
> 
> On the anniversary of the Sentient Life Act, an attempt on Markus’ life leaves Ronan temporaily blinded by an IED.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Blindness × Explosives
> 
> Inspired partly by this piece of Koko's art 
> 
> [[Twitter](https://twitter.com/kokoneakita/status/1289633900851945472).[Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/CDW38_9KQNs/).[Tumblr](https://kokoneakita.tumblr.com/post/625286180961927168/i-can-finally-post-this-yay-something-i-drew)]

“It is a great day for Detroit, for citizens both android and human, as we stand here today to celebrate the first anniversary of the Sentient Life Act.” Markus addresses the large crowd from the steps of the Town Hall, pausing with a smile to allow the loud cheers and applause. “And what a year it has been charting previously uncharted waters to reach this milestone: a richer, more vibrant Detroit, all the better for having walked this road together. The journey is not over, not by a long shot, but let us take this opportunity to celebrate all we have achieved this past year.”

It happens in less than a blink of an eye, too fast for a human to comprehend; a projectile fired from somewhere on the outskirts of the crowd, aimed directly at Markus. Too fast for a human to comprehend, but certainly within the comprehension of an RK900 unit. Ronan pushes Simon and Josh aside forcefully so they fall back from its trajectory as he leaps forward and claps his hands over the projectile, just as Connor dives to tackle North and Markus down. The projectile explodes in his hands, and he manages to contain most of the shrapnel. Most but not all.

**WARNING**

>BIOCOMPONENT #3231f DAMAGED

>BIOCOMPONENT #3232f DAMAGED

>Vision  **offline**

>>Exterior facial plating DAMAGED

>BIOCOMPONENT #9740h DAMAGED

>BIOCOMPONENT #9741h DAMAGED

>>Dermal layer loss: 24% 

>>Motor skills 81% functioning

>>Thirium loss: 0.02%

[Automated damage report has been sent to E.KAMSKI]

Large shards of metal stick out of his face and hands, and he can feel the slick trickle of thirium running down his face. Negligible.

/Searching for nearby DPD frequencies...

Police Drone #608-123-590 identified

[^CONNECT]

A moment later and he has a bird’s eye view of the crowd. He can see Connor, rifle in hand covering as the Jericho Four are rushed inside by the auxiliary police units. Satisfied his brother has the prime directive under control, he lowers the drone and scans the crowd.

**Target located**

[Preconstruct  **↓** ]

>Optimising route

Ronan leaps forward, path steady and unfolding before him even as the crowds disperse, filling the air with their screams as the shooter scrambles to get away. Too slow. Too  _ human _ . The RK900 collides with him, tackling him to the ground and twisting his arms so his hands are behind his back.

“Civilian Mitchell Johnson you are under arrest for attempted murder, you have the-”

“You fucking piece of shit! You’re not a real police officer you’re just a fucking machine!”

“He’s a machine with a badge so I’d shut up if I were you.” That’s the familiar voice of Lieutenant Hank Anderson at his side, handing him a pair of cuffs he then secures around the man’s wrist. The drone’s camera shows Ronan the top of his father’s head, and he angles the drone slightly, so he can see the unimpressed expression on Hank’s face that soon changes to one of concern as he looks him over.

“You have the right to remain silent.” The RK900 hisses as he hauls the man upright. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning.” 

“I’ll get this fucker back to the precinct. Go with your brother to get that looked at.” Hank makes to touch his face but draws his hand back at the last minute, thinking the better of it. He settles for tousling Ronan’s hair affectionately. “Good job kid.”

“Thanks dad.” He murmurs with a small smile. Bringing the drone down to hover just behind his head, Ronan uses its camera feed to navigate his way safely up the steps to the entrance of the Town Hall just as Connor rushes out to embrace him tightly.

“Simon’s called a taxi already and I’ll have it take us directly to CyberLife. Ms Chloe is already having new ocular units fabricated.”

“Thank you Connor.” Ronan tries to pat his back reassuringly but the skin from his hands melted away in the explosion, leaving his casing damaged and nerves raw. He’d been able to ignore it for the sake of arresting the shooter, but now any contact feels like touching a livewire. “It’s best you remain here and escort the Four back to Jericho. I can go alone.”

“Absolutely not.” That’s Simon’s voice, firm and unwavering as he comes to stand by Connor’s side. “I’ll go with you. Connor will stay with the other three.”

“Simon-”

“I’m coming with you, don’t argue with me.” He cuts him off sternly, face softening into one of concern as he cups his cheek carefully. “You sustained damage for our sake, it’s the least I can do.”

The taxi arrives and he has no choice but to disconnect from the police drone and rely entirely on Simon’s kindness as the PL600 guides him inside. The other android very gently dabs at his face with a kerchief, mopping up the spilled thirium now that his system has staved off most of the bleeding.

“You don’t need to be here, I am more than capable of going by myself.”

“I don’t doubt that one bit, Ronan.” Simon says patiently, touch gentle as he coaxes him to turn his face slightly so he can continue cleaning his wounds. “But just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. It’s better when you’re not alone. Besides, it’s one less person for Connor to worry over, and I never worry when I’m with you.”

It’s a Simon thing, a way of giving care and deflecting attention away from himself at the same time. It’s the PL600’s way of quietly loving others no matter the consequences for himself. Ronan is utterly helpless to it. 

“That’s the fourth attempt this week.” Simon sighs, resting his hand on Ronan’s arm lightly. 

“The anniversary is a cause for celebration to many, but also antagonistic to others. It is unsurprising that threats escalate around this time.” His touch grounds him, gives Ronan something to focus on and keeps his stress levels down instead of becoming overwhelmed with the lack of vision. Swapping to echolocation in a moving vehicle would put unnecessary pressure on his system as it would attempt to map out the streets rushing by outside. Instead, to conserve power and keep exertion to a minimum he sits in the darkness and listens to Simon’s voice and feels Simon’s gentle touch on his arm. It is enough.

[ _ Site secure. _ ] Connor’s voice comes through directly into his head. [ _ Gunman was acting on his own, no further arrests made. I will stay with the Jericho leaders inside the Town Hall for the next hour. _ ]

_ ‘Thank you Connor.’  _ He says in gratitude before closing the communication channel. “Connor will stay with Markus, Josh and North for the next hour inside the Town Hall. The gunman was acting on his own, so the threat has de-escalated.”

“Well that’s a silver lining. And today, of all days.” Simon sighs, shifting a little so he’s leaning against Ronan’s side, cheek mushed against his shoulder. “I know it’s a relief you were there but I still wish you hadn’t been hurt so severely.”

“It is not severe.” 

“Ronan I know you can’t see your face but you literally have shrapnel sticking out of it like a porcupine.” The PL600 chides with a huff. “And it’s taken out your eyes. I’d say that’s at least a  _ little  _ severe.”

“Just a touch, then.” He concedes, lips twitching up briefly. Simon laughs, squeezing his arm.

The taxi slows to a stop and Ronan realises they’re at the security checkpoint. He hears the window mechanism whirr as it lowers, and cold air rushes through the gap.

“Simon-”

“-of the Jericho Four. An honour to meet you, today of all days.” One of the guards says, tone reverent. Simon’s surprise is tangible, and Ronan turns to hide a small smile.

“Oh- um. Well it’s nice to meet you too. I’m here with Ronan, who needs to see Ms Chloe for repairs.”

“RK900 Prime is expected.” There’s a rumble as the bollards are lowered. “Please proceed. Thank you for all you have done for our people, Simon. May ra9 keep you safe.”

The window rolls shut, the cold air cut off and Simon settles back against his side with a sigh.

“Not too sure about ra9, but I’m certainly safe here with you.” He quips, and Ronan tries not to laugh. 

[  _ You have reached your destination. Thank you for travelling with Detroit Taxis. We look forward to seeing you again soon. _ ]

There’s the rush of cold air again, more this time as the taxi door opens. Simon rests a hand on the top of his head and the other between his shoulder blades.

“Careful now.” He guides him to lean forward, protecting him from hitting his head on the taxi’s door frame. 

/Searching for nearby DPD frequencies…

>No frequencies detected

CyberLife Security Drone #026-155-934 identified

[^CONNECT]

*ERROR

Unauthorised connection

He presses his mouth into a tight line.

>Initialising echolocation…

Increase aural sensitivity:  **Y/N** ?

“Stop that.” Simon hits his arm lightly. “Whatever it is you’re planning to do. I can see your yellow LED. Save your power and just trust me, alright? We don’t have far to go.”

“I dislike relying on others.” Ronan mutters, and Simon laughs lightly as he loops his arm around his.

“I am well aware, but I do recall an RK900 once telling me that though I am capable of trying to tackle something in a solitary, silent manner I need not do so.” Simon recites, and Ronan frowns as his own words are used against him. The PL600 guides him into the building and he feels the security scanner brush prod him for a connection.

[  _ RK900 Prime Unit; Ronan Anderson: identified. _ ] 

[  _ PL600 Unit; Simon: identified.  _ ]

He hears the general hubbub of the main foyer die down as they step through the scanners, and even without sight he knows everyone is looking at them.

“Oh my, that’s  _ quite  _ the injury.” He cants his head slightly to follow the voice. 

“Ms Chloe.”

“Dear me.” Chloe’s voice is tinged with worry, and he hears her shoes click on the floor as she approaches. Her hands are warm, her touch soft with concern as she reaches up to cup his cheeks. “Well, let’s get you down to the hospital level. Hello Simon, what a lovely surprise.” 

“Hello Ms Chloe.” There’s the rustle of clothing, an embrace happening at his side and the sound of a kiss pressed to a cheek in greeting. He’s guided to the elevator and he takes care to step towards the back to give them space.

“Kamski, Chloe. Sub level 40.” 

[ _RT600; Chloe Kamski; identified. Sub level 40._ ]

He has to be put in stasis for the operation and he tries once more to dissuade Simon from staying.

“I’m going to pretend you’re already in stasis and I didn’t hear that at all.” The PL600 says sternly, and he hears Chloe’s bright laugh. “I’ll see you when you come out of surgery.”

“And hopefully if all goes well,” Chloe giggles, “he will see you too.”

Model: RK900

Serial#: 313 248 317 - 51

Bios 7.4 Revision 0483

Loading OS

System initiation...

Checking biocomponents...

>>Installing biocomponents #3231f #3232f #9740h #9741h...

INSTALLATION COMPLETE

>>Calibrating…

CALIBRATION COMPLETE

Initializing biosensors...

OK

Initializing A.I. engine...

OK

Memory status…

OK

All systems: 

READY

“There you are.” Simon smiles as he opens his eyes, fingers brushing his hair away from his face. “Good as new.”

“Better than new.” Chloe adds, kissing his cheek. “You’ll find a couple of upgrades to your ocular units.” 

“Thank you, both of you.” Ronan sits up gingerly, a little abashed under their affections. He looks at them both, his new eyes picking up the striations of colours in theirs, the minute hues that differentiate the blue PL600 eyes from the blue RT600 eyes. A lovely discovery he tucks away for no one’s knowledge but his. 


	27. Extreme Weather + Power Outage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 27 Extreme Weather + Power Outage
> 
> An emergency requiring both RK units to lend their battery cores to save the key witness’ life leaves them critically low on power. Intending to recharge at the precinct, to their dismay there is a power outage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Exhaustion x Sleep Deprivation x Power Outage

The RK units are specifically designed with powerful battery cores enabling them to function for longer periods between recharging. If expenditure is kept at a minimum, they can remain online for up to a fortnight without recharging, though given their line of duty they tend to rest for short bursts in order to supplement their cores. 

That is not the case for them currently, not when Detroit’s caught up in a storm that’s knocked out several power grids and they’re at a crime scene with a felled tree crushing an ambulance.

“Power’s completely out for this grid!” Hank raises his voice to try and be heard over the crashing rain. 

“This patient will die without proper medical care!” The medroid shouts in reply and Ronan assesses their dwindling options. Three dead, five injured- one in critical condition. Ambulance damaged, power grid down and no way to power the medvan and keep the injured android alive. Unlike humans, an android runs on electrical impulses of an inorganic nature and cannot be kept alive with medications. 

“We have two manual cars here.” Connor says slowly, and he looks to Ronan who already knows what they must do. “Transfer the patient to Detective Reed’s car-”

“ _ What _ ?!” 

“We will force a power surge into the victim and give their core a jumpstart to ensure it can remain active long enough for you to get them to Jericho.” Ronan continues with a nod. “Connor and I are RK units, we can do this safely and still retain enough power to last us until we reach Central Station.”

“Power’s still online there.” Connor reassures. “We can use the charging bays. This way the patient can survive until they receive medical help at Jericho. The others have sustained only superficial injuries which are low priority and can wait until power returns and a secondary medvan can be dispatched.”

Hank looks them over, and Ronan knows their father isn’t too keen on the idea but the idea is sound; the idea is the only option they have if they want their key witness to survive. 

“We’ll be alright, dad.” Connor says, softer this time as he squeezes his arm. “Just incredibly sleepy, actually.”

“Please do it now.” The medroid grips his wrist. “We’re losing the last of the van’s power rapidly and without a strong electric current he’ll die.”

Ronan tips his head slightly, and Connor follows him to the medvan. The android is in poor shape, multiple gunshot wounds littering his torso. A long thick cable snakes from his power core to the medvan’s life support, and the medroid hurries to detach the heavy black box from the side. 

“I’ll power the core, you power the generator.” Ronan instructs, and Connor nods in understanding. They have to undress partly to grant the medroid access to their chestplate, and connect them to both the android and the generator. 

“Ready?” They prompt, and the two brothers nod. The effect is almost immediate, the drain a sudden, strong pull that leaves them feeling fatigued. 

**WARNING**

>LOW POWER

>>Power core: 8%

RECHARGE IMMEDIATELY

Ronan blinks away the notification, reaching out to steady Connor as his brother sways on his feet. 

“No complex processes until you’re both at least at 25%.” The medroid instructs sternly. “Consume extra thirium, and run a full diagnostic cycle once you’re at full power.” 

“Understood.” Ronan nods, and even that seems like a gargantuan effort. 

“That thing better not bleed all over my backseat.” Gavin grumbles as he hands over the keys and they load up the injured android in his car.

“That  _ person  _ is our key witness, so their well-being is worth more than your car’s upholstery.” Ronan snaps. “Thirium will evaporate without leaving a stain on this type of synthetic textile. I cannot say the same for your blood.” 

Hank snorts back a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder as Gavin sputters indignantly. “Alright into the car everyone, I’ll drive us back to Central.” 

“We will return your car once it is safe to do so, Detective Reed.” The medroid vows. “We will take every care to sanitise the interior.”

“Then it will be much cleaner than it’s ever been under his care.” Ronan drawls, unable to stop himself. Hank guffaws, hand on his belly.

“Oh shit you’re  _ cranky _ , I love it.” He snorts back a laugh and makes a shooing gesture. “Alright everyone in- boys at the back, Reed at the front before Ronan can kill you.”

Central Station looms ahead, lit only by the recessed ground lights embedded in the steps leading up to the entrance.

“Ah shit.” Hank curses as he pulls up to park. 

“Grid’s out here too.” Gavin groans. “And the storm’s picking up.” 

“We won’t be able to recharge here.” Connor huffs, leaning heavily on Ronan. 

“I mean, Eli’s supervillain lair runs on its own solar grid.” Gavin shrugs. “Could just keep going. Barbie bot won’t mind sharing, I’m sure.”

“Road conditions are not ideal. There is a large margin for human error.” Connor points out, and Ronan notes the way Hank’s hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles blanche. “Rain radar shows an exponential increase in volume of rainfall over the next five hours, and winds set to rise.”

“Well,” Gavin falters with a frown, “the self-driving taxis should be fine, right?”

“I’m not risking them either way.” Hank declares gruffly. “Safer if we stay inside the precinct and just wait it out.”

“They can’t charge in there!” Gavin protests and Hank shouts in return.

“It doesn’t matter! At least they’ll stay alive!” There’s a beat where no one says anything, and the only sound is the thunderous crash of rain atop the car and Ronan knows Hank is both correct, and speaking from trauma.

“We will stay inside.” Ronan says calmly to break the tension. “There is ample food and water for the both of you, and thirium for the both of us. It is warm and dry, and weathertight.”

“At this hour there shouldn’t be too many staff left anyway.” Connor adds. “And the both of you keep spare clothes in your lockers.”

“Alright alright let’s go.” Gavin groans, bracing himself for the inevitable drenching. Though it’s only a short distance from the parking lot to the entrance, it’s enough for their clothes to become thoroughly soaked. They reach the doors and the doors stay shut. Of course. No power. The lone ST300 at reception spots them and gestures to her left, pointing at the side door. They trudge over and Hank pushes at the handle. Some things are best kept low tech, it seems. 

“Good evening, Lieutenant Anderson, Detectives Reed and Andersons.” Stephanie greets, smile apologetic. “Though I surmise there’s little to make it ‘good’.”

“How long’s the power been out here for?” Hank sighs tiredly, slicking his hair out of his eyes.

“Twelve minutes ago.” She informs them, and Connor whines in disappointment, lips pressed tightly together and curled downward. 

“Who’s still here?” Gavin strips off his jacket, cursing colourfully at the state of his clothes. 

“Officers Chen and Lewis, and assistive units Polly, Justin and Gareth.”

“Thanks Steph.” Hank nods in gratitude before leading them all through the gates. They head immediately to their lockers after giving the others a wave. 

“This is less than ideal.” Connor sighs morosely, coordination clumsy as he strips out of his wet clothing. 

“Power level?” Ronan prompts, hand hovering in case Connor sways again.

“7.1%. Yours?”

“7.9%.” He pulls a clean, dry sweater over his head before taking a moment to steady himself. Removing wet slacks proves a challenge in his addled state, but he manages it eventually and tugs on a pair of jeans. Connor leans heavily on his now closed locker, the petulant pout still there on his lips. 

“I feel awful.”

“They put us through worse.” Ronan reminds him lightly. “Part of our testing phase was to complete an objective with 5% power.”

“They wiped my testing phase.” A brief look of concern crosses his face. “You remember yours?”

“Every single moment.” His brother saddens at the revelation, and he reaches over to squeeze his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Ronan reminds him, and Connor nods.

“I know. I’m still sorry, though.” He seeks his hand, and Ronan clasps it securely with his own. 

“You boys alright?” Hank wanders over, dressed in DPD sweats. 

“Tired.” Connor blinks slowly at him, and Hank huffs a laugh, reaching over to tousle his damp hair. 

“Yeah you sure look it. C’mon, we’ll go mope at our desks.”

Officer Tina Chen sits herself on the edge of Gavin’s desk, expression pitying.

“Stuck here til the storm blows over, huh?”

“Fuck I want to pass out on my bed so bad, I’m fucking exhausted.” Gavin groans, slumping in his chair. “Why’re you guys still here?”

“We sent them back to log the evidence and compile the findings.” Ronan reminds him, rolling his eyes in irritation. “Or can you not remember what transpired sixty-five minutes ago?”

“Why bother? That’s what you’re here for, right? Walking computer.” Gavin gestures vaguely in his direction and Ronan decides acting on his irritation will expand battery power the human does not deserve. “God, the coffee machine’s off too isn’t it? I’d kill for one right now.”

“There’s still some left in the pot but it’s lukewarm if you don’t mind that.” Robert pipes up from his desk across the room. “Enough for both you and the Lieutenant.”

“Hey tinc-”

“Finish that sentence and I will pour the coffee for my father and the rest goes down the sink.” Ronan hisses and Hank slaps the table with a laugh. 

“Fuckin’ hell Ronan, I am  _ lovin’  _ this.” He gets to his feet. “Don’t worry I’ll get the coffees. Just promise you won’t kill Reed while I’m gone.”

“I’ll refrain until you return so you may witness it yourself.” Ronan vows and Hank guffaws loudly as he heads to the breakroom. Gavin shoots him a withering glare, which he ignores entirely in favour of assessing his brother. Connor has his arms folded on his desk, head resting on his forearms. His LED winks a soft red, dimming them glowing periodically like a slow warning he is on low power. 

“You doin’ okay, Connor?” Tina asks worriedly.

“They got used like car batteries to jumpstart the key witness.” Gavin stifles a yawn. “Came back here to recharge since it was closer than Jericho or home but…” He trails off with a shrug and Tina looks at Connor sympathetically. She turns her gaze to him.

“Bad time to ask a favour huh?” Her smile is sheepish. “Rob and I found some sort of substance residue on one of the trafficked biocomponents we were logging into evidence. We’d hoped one of you boys could analyse it for us, but it’ll just have to wait.”

“No.” Ronan sighs. “Give it to me. I’ll do it. The sooner this case is put behind us the better- if this can provide solid evidence linking the trafficking to the suspect then it will be worth it.”

She disappears briefly to fetch the biocomponent from the evidence room, and Hank returns in the meantime, placing a cup of coffee on Gavin’s desk before returning to his. 

“Hey kiddo, you’re not lookin’ too good.” His tone is soft with parental concern as he leans over to smooth Connor’s hair back.

“I don’t like this.” Connor declares with a frown. “It’s irritating and I can’t access the network properly and Jericho is running on a closed circuit at the moment to minimise stress on their generators.” A pause, brows creasing. “And Sumo is home all alone.”

“S’alright, I managed to text Lucy and she went over to make sure he was let out and gave him his dinner.” Hank chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. We’ll just wait it out and head home and you boys can charge in your beds. Power’s still on over there.”

“For now.” Gavin adds, shrugging when Hank shoots him a glare. “It’s the apocalypse out there versus Detroit’s shitty overworked, aging power stations.”

“Ronan?” Tina reappears at his side holding out the bagged biocomponent; a thirium pump regulator. She is correct, there is a smudge of some sort of congealed substance on the tip of the component where it would usually click into the main arterial port in an android. 

“Power level?” Connor asks, voice muffled in his arms.

“7.4%.”

“Sass is wearing you out.” Gavin sneers. “I think you need a nap.” Ignoring him, Ronan carefully opens the bag and retrieves the biocomponent. It’s a midline model, used in domestics produced within the last two years. Bringing the port end to his mouth, he presses the tip of his tongue to the congealed substance.

Analysing…

  * Thirium 310 serial #342 541 238
  * Hydrocarbon solvent: xylene 
  * Xylene solution: industrial grade xylene, medical grade thirium toluene



Searching database…

Thirium toluene; medical manufacturers within 5km of Detroit city

>R.G. Medical 

/Generating warrant for latest purchase of >gallon quantity medical grade thirium toluene

//Request failed; insufficient power

**WARNING**

Power level: 4.2%

“-nan? Ronan?” He startles back into himself, identifying Hank leaning over him and gently shaking his shoulders. “Shit kid you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Apologies.” He frowns, blinking up at his father. “What happened?”

“You licked the thing and then just blue-screened.” Gavin makes a face. “Mood ring went bright red and then you just slumped in your chair.”

“The substance is a hybrid solvent.” He replaces the biocomponent back into the bag. “It is comprised of xylene and a medical grade thirium toluene. There is only one manufacturer, R.G. Medical, within a five kilometre radius of the warehouse. I tried generating a warrant to obtain a record of their recent sales larger than a gallon but I do not have enough power.”

“System’s down anyway.” Hank shakes his head. “Don’t sweat it. We know now, and we’ll just get it done when the power’s back.”

“Supervillain lair is still the best bet.” Gavin crosses his arms over his chest. “Recharge and access whatever you need to. He has his own internet line too.”

“The storm’s worsening, we already told you the weather-” Connor begins, but Gavin rolls his eyes.

“Better than being here, at least there’s beds and coffee over there and whatever you lot need.” He downs the dregs remaining in his cup. “We can take a self-driving taxi so there’s no ‘human error’.”

“No one’s leaving here until that storm blows over and the roads aren’t an oil slick!” Hank growls and Gavin groans.

“Oh my god give it a rest old man, we’re safer in one of those than with you or me driving!”

“An automated delivery truck was what crashed into Hank’s car in 2035, what part of ‘no one is leaving here’ do you not understand?” Ronan roars, grabbing the front of his shirt and hauling the man off his chair. “You are being asked to do  _ very  _ little, Detective Reed, so surely you can manage staying put?” He shoves Gavin away and his senses blurs with white noise.

**CRITICAL POWER FAILURE**

>Entering emergency stasis

“Dad-!” Connor’s voice is laced with panic and Hank’s worried face is the last thing he sees before he shuts down.

* * *

Model: RK900

Serial#: 313 248 317 - 87

Bios 7.4 Revision 0483

Loading OS...SAFE MODE

System initiation...

Checking biocomponents...

OK

Initializing biosensors...

OK

Initializing A.I. engine...

OK

Memory status…

OK

Power core: 25%

All systems: SAFE MODE ACTIVATED

READY

When he wakes he recognises the neon blue downlights of the UV charging bay. What was once installed along the back wall where auxiliary units stood in line awaiting orders, after the revolution one of the storage rooms adjacent to Evidence was converted into a proper breakroom for androids with charging bays modeled to look like reclining chairs with UV downlights installed in the ceiling. 

He also recognises the weight of another android at his side, and he doesn’t have to look to know it’s Connor. There’s a lighter weight atop them both- a soft blanket tucked up to their chins. Though not an android, Hank is in another charging bay fast asleep, mouth open and snoring lightly. 

His HUD tells him it has been four hours since entering emergency stasis but only eighty-nine minutes since the power came back online with Central Precinct bumped to High Priority. Connor stirs at his side, blinking awake briefly and meeting his gaze sleepily; his older brother is seemingly reassured all is well before he closes his eyes and wriggles closer. Charging bays are not made for more than one android to occupy but he’s not about to protest. Not when Connor is a warm, reassuring presence at his side, hand resting on his chest as if to anchor himself to him. 

There is still a case to close. Later, though. He will tend to it later. 

Ronan goes back to sleep. 


	28. Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 28 Accidents
> 
> An out of control truck destroys most of Ronan’s body and he must be temporarily housed back in the RK-YK500 shell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Age Regression/De-Aging × Kid Fic ×Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Hurt/Comfort × Father-Son Relationship × Accidents
> 
> Please note this is a direct sequel to [[if you go, take a little piece of me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220943)]. Synopsis: after a sudden mysterious autoimmune illness befalls the RK series, they are temporarily housed in YK500 units while a cure is found.

It is one of those crisp, beautiful Sunday mornings in March where there is light snowfall dusting the city like powdered icing sugar. Detroit is starting to bustle with life, the morning sun warm enough to coax people to traverse outside seeking food, seeking company, seeking a chance to peruse and purchase this and that. 

Ronan loves mornings like these, perhaps specifically because he spends them with his brother and father and their faithful hound. It’s a short trip by car and then a lovely walk to the cafe Hank frequented since he was in his rookie days with the DPD and has never stopped providing patronage ever since. They wait at the lights and he catches his father’s eye, Hank giving a somewhat sleepy though fond little smile, cementing just why Ronan loves joining his family for their fortnightly Sunday treat.

The pedestrian light turns green and they stride across the road just as a family with a pram stride across from the other side. He notes their little ensemble; two parents, young girl of about four, and baby bundled up thickly in the pram. They’re just about to pass each other by when he hears it; the screeching and sliding of tires locking up on the slippery black ice, the blaring truck horn, the panicked shouting of the driver. 

[Preconstruct ↓]

They can save them all. They are quick enough. Connor may be a fraction slower, running the same calculations as he, but he knows his brother will prioritise their father at all costs. They trust in each other, in both of them being RK units; faster, smarter and sturdier than typical CyberLife models. 

He and Connor can save them all, but it will cost him his body. That is an acceptable loss.

[Execute]

Ronan sprints forward as Connor yanks their father back, releasing Sumo’s lead so the dog bounds safely across the road as Connor cushions Hank’s fall. He grabs the little girl and sweeps his leg out to catch the pram and kicks it so it skids out of the way, pivoting to grab the parents and shoving them as hard as he can. The truck jackknifes and the middle set of wheels catches him, pulling him under and pinning him flat. Thirium bursts into a puddle beneath him and there’s shouting, so much shouting, and screaming, so much screaming and his system goes into critical care mode, diverting all processes into maintaining a steady flow to his hearts and positronic core. The emergency shunts divert all thirium from his crushed pelvis and legs, sacrificing them in favour of pumping blood to his head and hearts. It even bypasses his arms, deeming them unimportant in the priority list. He closes his eyes and shuts off visual processing as well as verbal capabilities, retaining only his aural sensors to ensure he is aware of his surroundings.

“Ronan! Holy fucking shit, oh Ronan! Son! Son- oh!” He doesn’t need to see Hank to know his father is experiencing acute distress and he knows the situation must look dire; most of him is crushed beneath a truck. 

“Dad he’s alright-”

“Are you fucking kidding?! What part of _this_ looks _alright_ to you?!” Hank bellows as Connor tries to placate him. He can feel Hank’s trembling hands brushing his hair back, can feel his shaky touch on his shoulder, his chest, his forehead as his father panics. There’s sobbing from somewhere behind them, most likely from the parents he saved.

“Listen to me!” Connor commands. “I’m going to detach him and you’re going to drive him to Jericho. It’s the closest MedBay- he won’t make it to CyberLife Tower but I’ve already notified Ms Chloe and she’ll video into the Jericho MedBay while she’s en route.”

“W-what about you?” Hank stammers, and Ronan hears sniffling as his father tries to hold back his tears. There’s sniffing of another kind, Sumo, as the Saint Bernard whines softly and snuffles by his ear, nosing him worriedly. 

“I have to stay here. Ronan’s an RK900. Our tech is...sought after. It can’t fall into the wrong hands. As soon as a medvan comes and extracts the rest of him, I’ll join you at Jericho.”

“He-he’s alright, you _swear_? He’s not moving and- and-”

“He’s alright, dad, I swear.” Connor says, gentler this time. “He’s just shut off as many processes as he can to conserve power and thirium. The sooner you can get him to Jericho, the better, Okay?”

“Okay.” Hank sucks in a deep breath. “Alright. Okay.”

“Give me your jacket.” There’s the sounds of fabric rustling. “Ronan, I’m detaching you from your limbs, on three. One. Two. _Three_.” There’s an awful wet scraping sound as Connor pulls him free and Hank makes a sound of distress mixed with disgust and he knows it’s not the most reassuring sight. He feels Connor lift him and tuck him into their father’s jacket, and into Hank’s hold. “Traffic control’s aware and you have green lights to get you to Jericho. _Go_.”

He’s trying very hard not to focus on how wet his entire front is, nor how the bundle in his arms is the heaviest he’s ever carried but it should be heavier. Ronan should be heavier, but he’s not because he’s only holding _part_ of Ronan and the rest of him is still under that truck. 

“You’re gonna be okay son, you’re gonna be just fine.” He’s saying it mostly for his benefit because Ronan hasn’t opened his eyes at all ever since most of him went under those wheels. Hank’s trying not to think about that sound, that godawful screech, that _crunch_ , the smell of tires and sharp acetone as Ronan’s blood splashed out on the bitumen. As carefully as he can he eases the wrapped bundle into the backseat and yes after a moment’s hesitation he buckles him in using the seatbelts because Hank doesn’t quite trust his own driving right now. 

What he does trust is that Connor’s already sent word ahead and so all he has to do, the one fucking thing up to him, is just get Ronan to Jericho. That’s it. He can do that. He can manage this much.

Taking a deep breath, Hank twists the key and squares his shoulders. One fucking job. He can do this. He has to.

They’re ready and waiting at Jericho. The gates are already open, the guards are waving him through, and there’s the head doctor, the one who looked after them not too long ago when they were poisoned. Dr Anthea, yes, that’s it. He barely kills the engine before the androids are opening the back and carefully extracting Ronan, laying him out on the prepared gurney and wheeling him inside. Hank trails after them numbly, standing back to ensure he’s not in the way as they hook up what’s left of his son, as much of him as Connor could pull out from the wreckage, to various machinery. On one of the screens is Chloe, and he can tell she’s in a car, just as Connor has said, en route to Jericho while she oversees the surgery.

“Status?”

“Emergency arterial shunts were able to close off and seal most of the thirium lines.” Anthea reports, looking him over. “Secondary heart is fractured and dented but still holding. Minor internal bleeding. Primary heart undamaged, positronic core undamaged. Ronan shut down most of his processes to conserve power, which was crucial. ETA?”

“Fifteen minutes.” Chloe replies, looking around and locking eyes with him. “Lieutenant, I know it doesn’t look like it, but Ronan’s in very good condition. A lot could’ve gone wrong but it didn’t. Is Connor on his way?”

“No err- not yet. Said he needed a van to pick up the-” he makes an awkward gesture, the words lodged stubbornly in his throat, “the _rest_ of him. Said he couldn’t just leave him in case they were stolen.”

“A very important decision, yes.”

“We dispatched a medvan and a couple of heavy labourer androids to help.” Anthea nods. “The Jericho Four have also been notified and have sent a drone to monitor the situation. DPD will close off the scene to keep the public at bay.”

“When Connor arrives with the rest of his parts, and I’ve assessed the damage, I’ll have Eli start fabricating a replacement body.”

“You can’t do that here?” Hank frowns. “Jericho can do that, surely?” He’s asked a question he shouldn’t have, because Chloe hesitates and the doctor presses her mouth into a tight line.

“It’s...complicated.” Chloe manages with an apologetic smile. “The RK series is unique and has parts and programming that Eli and I are unwilling to disclose to others.”

Dr Anthea stays quiet though Hank can see she definitely has _opinions_ on this matter she’s not voicing at present. Hank shrugs awkwardly.

“Okay. Yeah uh, sure. So um-” he looks over at Ronan and _christ_ they’ve got his head open now too. “So what happens next? Just- just wait around and Kamski has the body couriered over?”

“It’s not that simple.” Chloe frowns, expression slightly pinched. “As I said, he’s part of the RK series. They’re built differently, so it will take time. It’s…”

“Time he doesn’t have.” Anthea cuts in, brows furrowed and expression stern. “Keeping him like this is a temporary measure. A typical android can be fabricated in an hour, the domestic ones in even less, which is an acceptable period to be in emergency stasis in his state. However if he is kept without proper stimulation to his positronic core he will deteriorate rapidly and lose all sense of self.”

“Wait, so-” Hank flounders, feels the panic rising again just when he thought he’d squashed it under control. “Wait, what does that mean? What do we have to do to help him?”

Chloe tips her head thoughtfully. “Does Jericho still have his YK500 faceplate?” 

Anthea blinks in surprise. “Yes. We dismantled the bodies but kept the faceplates since they’re unique and can’t be used by others.” She nods slowly, understanding blooming on her face. “Transfer him into his YK500 body for the time being, keeping his core active while the new body is fabricated.”

“And in not so dire circumstances like last time.” Chloe adds with a triumphant smile. “He’ll be safe and we’ll have time to construct a new body without having to rush.”

“Alright.” Anthea sighs, nodding. “Alright, we’ll get the parts from storage.”

Not so dire, she said, but every situation where his sons are in danger is incredibly dire, to him anyway. Hank jigs his leg, unable to sit still as he waits outside the operating theatre where they’re putting Ronan back into the kid shell. Chloe had arrived not long after, and shooed him outside as she got to work. He’s so caught up in his anxiety that he doesn’t hear someone sit next to him until they very lightly rest their hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He nearly jumps out of his skin, pressing a hand to his chest as his heart hammers away.

“Sorry Lieutenant, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” It’s Simon, expression apologetic, and Hank feels his heart rate settle into something more normal.

“Sorry kid, I’m stressed out of my head.” He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Can’t a dad just have a normal Sunday with his family, is that somehow too much to ask?”

“It’ll be alright.” Simon soothes with a soft smile. “He’s in very good hands, and then he’ll be in yours. And there’s no one he trusts more than his own father.”

“Thanks for dropping by.” Hank manages belatedly. 

“Of course.” Simon laughs. “He’s one of my dearest friends. It’s important I be here for him.”

“He’d want you to be.” Hank nods gratefully. “So uh, thanks again.”

“Any time.” 

* * *

There’s an awful cacophony of sounds- shouting, screaming, the screeching of tires, the scraping of metal being dragged. He startles awake, frightened and disoriented, but Ms Chloe is there, drawing him into her arms and hushing him softly.

“It’s alright little dove, I’m right here.” She soothes, rubbing his back. Ronan clings to her tightly, feeling overwhelmed as tears roll down his cheeks. He’s scared but he can’t remember why, can’t recall anything more than awful sounds and the feel of lying in something wet. “Shhh, everything’s just fine, sweetheart.” He can’t seem to stop, sobbing softly into her shoulder as she sways side to side slowly, hand still massaging circles into his back.

“Wh-what happened?” He sniffles back his tears as best he can, rubbing his eyes with one hand, reluctant to let go of her with his other.

“There was an accident, but everything’s alright now. Your papa rushed you here as fast as he could, and we took care of you.”

“Dad’s here?” He hiccups, and Chloe presses a kiss to his temple.

“Yes, he’s been waiting ever so patiently just outside.” She crouches to set him back on his feet, offering him her hand which he grasps tightly. “Come on, let’s go see him.”

Just as she had said, Hank is waiting right outside the room and Ronan feels his emotions bubble up again, spilling over and out of his control. He bursts into tears once more and Hank’s small hopeful smile vanishes instantly as the man steps forward and just hoists him up into his arms.

“Aw kiddo c’mere, dad’s got you.” Hank murmurs, bouncing him a little as he squeezes him close. “Shhh, I’m right here. And look, Simon’s here too.”

“S-Simon?” He blinks back his tears, finding the PL600 standing closeby. He reaches out with one hand and Simon clasps it with both of his, stepping forward to kiss his brow. 

“Hello darling.” Warm fingers card through his hair as Simon offers an encouraging smile. “The scary bit is over and we’re here for you. You’re safe now, Ronan. Nothing’s going to harm you.”

He nods tiredly, exhausted from feeling so scared, from crying, from all of it. 

“And good news.” Chloe pipes up from behind him. “Connor’s arrived.”

“Connor?” Perking up at the name, Ronan wriggles to try and look down the hallway, expecting to see his brother. 

“Come on, let’s go meet him outside.” Chloe beckons, but Ronan shakes his head, latching his arms around Hank’s neck. 

“It’s okay, I’ll carry you.” Hank chuckles, patting his back. “Come on kiddo.”

Connor is his older brother, that is a fact. It’s just...Somehow he’s a lot bigger. Ronan thought he’d be a YK500, like him, but he isn’t. Connor is an RK800, a prototype made for detective fieldwork. He is tall and has brown hair and brown eyes and he looks very friendly. At the moment he is covered in a lot of blue blood which Ronan thinks might be his because Ms Chloe said he’d been an accident.

“Hi Connor.” He greets quietly, shyly, because Connor looks very big and important and he’s not sure if he wants to spend time with someone so little. 

“Oh-” Connor’s eyes are wide with surprise when he spots them, and Hank laughs loudly.

“Yeah this is him.” 

“Was I-”

“Yeah. About the same.”

“But he’s- he’s so _small_!” Connor offers him a lopsided grin. “Hi Ronan.” After a moment’s hesitation he reaches out and gently tousles his hair. “Do you know who else is here with me? Sumo!” He stands aside and gestures as Sumo hops out of the taxi, bounding straight for them. Ronan wriggles to be set down, his feet touching the ground just in time for Sumo to barrel into him and knock him over. 

“Hey! Hey you big lump!” Hank tries to scold, but Ronan squeals with laughter as Sumo promptly flops right on him and licks his face. “Alright alright come on.” He grabs the large canine by the collar and coaxes him off while Connor helps him back on his feet. His hand is so small in Connor’s grasp. Fascinating. Connor squeezes his hand as if thinking the same thing, grinning down at him. 

“Shall we go bother Markus? RK sibling reunion?”

“It will have to wait, unfortunately.” Simon sighs, expression apologetic. “He and Josh have a press junket tomorrow so they’re up to their noses in prep work with the admin team.”

“Well, how about we take a photo and send it to him? I’m sure that’ll lift his spirits.” Connor scoops him up to brace him on his hip. “Dad?”

“Sure.” Hank chuckles, fishing out his phone and snapping a quick photo. “I’ll send it to you to send on to him.” He taps the screen a few times before pocketing the device. “Are we good to go? Is there some semblance of normalcy I can salvage for our Sunday?”

“Yes Lieutenant.” Chloe laughs, handing over a backpack. “I’ve put together some supplies which should be plenty for the next coming days though you’re always welcome to more.”

“Absolutely. Just let me know and I’ll have some sent over.” Simon adds with a nod. Smiling, he leans over to kiss the crown of his head. “You stick close to your papa and your big brother, hm? And then maybe on Tuesday you can come stay with Markus and I?”

“Oh!” He gasps, looking over at Hank for permission. “Will that be okay? Can I stay with Simon? Please dad please?”

“I don’t see why not.” Hank grins. “Thanks Simon.”

“Oh it’s an utter delight, I promise you Lieutenant.” Simon laughs, tapping Ronan’s nose playfully. “Every time.”

By the time they all get into the car, thankfully, _blessedly_ cleaned by the MedBay staff, Ronan sitting in the back with Sumo, it’s the middle of the afternoon. He’s not sure what they’ll do now, but the most important thing is they’re all together again and he feels safe and loved. That’s all that matters, really. 

“Well.” Hank sighs as they wait at a red light. “Still time to hole up at a cafe and get something hot to drink for you boys and something hot to eat for me. What do you say?”

“Yes please.” Ronan nods in agreement. A sudden thought crosses his mind as he realises tomorrow is Monday. “Oh um, dad?”

“Yeah kiddo?” 

“I have morning barre class with Ms Chloe tomorrow.”

“Oh shi- shoot, yeah that’s right!” Hank hums in thought. “That’s alright, we can swing by Reed’s after the cafe and grab your gear on the way home.”

“Hank.” Connor’s tone is...he’s not quite sure what that tone is. His brother makes a face he also can’t quite understand, but after a moment it seems their father can decipher it.

“Hm? _Oh_ that’s right. Oh. Jesus, uh-” 

“There’s a dancewear store on the main shopping strip at Greektown. We can get food at Essie’s and pick up Ronan’s clothing.” His brother says patiently, and Ronan hides a smile atop Sumo’s big fluffy head. He has the bestest brother in the whole world, ever so thoughtful, ever so clever.

This is completely unfamiliar territory to him. He’s never set foot inside a _dancewear_ store, not even for Cole. He knows he probably looks like a deer in headlights, standing there awkwardly at the entrance, but Ronan walks in and seems to know exactly what he’s doing. 

“Can I help you?” The salesperson asks, and they’re human and curious and mildly endeared as Ronan peruses the big wall of tights in a spectrum of colours.

“Err- my son’s just- we’re just pickin’ stuff up for class tomorrow. Ballet class.” Hank adds belatedly, and they smile brightly at the information.

“What form is he in? Does the class have a uniform colour?”

“Err-”

“It’s alright, just this one please.” Ronan says politely, holding out a packet of robin’s egg blue tights. His favourite, Hank realises. Ronan always wears the light blue tights for class, he’s seen them in his bag when he stays over on some Sunday nights. “And um-” he walks away once the tights are in their hands, carefully selecting a white shirt from the rack and a pair of soft blue ballet shoes folded in a packet. 

“My my, you certainly know what you’re doing!” They exclaim in a friendly tone, ringing up the total at the register. Hank taps his phone to the console to pay for it, grinning as Ronan accepts the bag with a thankful smile. “What school do you go to?”

“I attend Ballet Detroit. I have class there tomorrow.” He says, tone polite, and they gasp in exaggerated wonder.

“Goodness me! The very best! Well, enjoy class and work hard. I’m sure you’ll be a wondrously accomplished danseur one day.” Their eyes flick over to meet his. “And I’m sure dad will be proud to watch you on opening night.”

Ronan shrinks bashfully under the praise, cheeks rosy as he darts a hopeful glance up at Hank. “I hope so.”

* * *

It’s not exactly the Sunday he’d planned, but the outcome is still the same- time with his boys, and a delicious hot meal in his belly. Hank stretches, breathing in the sharp Spring air. It’s still just on the side of chilly, still not quite out of Winter’s grasp but there’s more and more sunshine now and less and less snowfall. Glancing across the table, he feels his heart squeeze at the sight of Ronan sipping at his hot tearium, listening attentively as Connor tells him all about the history of Greektown’s shopping strip, about the famous Bellini Paints which their other RK brother frequents. The sight is just so damn cute, _too_ damn cute, and for all the horrors of this morning’s truck crash, this certainly feels like an entirely different day to the one that began earlier. Ronan catches his gaze briefly, and the boy offers a big wide smile, cheeks rosy and eyes crinkled. Unable to help himself, he leans over to muss his hair fondly because if he doesn’t provide an outlet for the sheer amount of joy he’s feeling right now he may just explode. 

They walk through the park so Sumo can go for a run and stretch his legs. The dog manages to find a good sized stick and bounds over to drop it at Ronan’s feet. Delighted, the boy picks it up and gives it a good throw, laughing as Sumo lollops after it. The sound, god the _sound_ of little laughter fills Hank to the brim with happiness. He plonks himself down on a nearby bench and takes out his phone, recording a couple of videos of Ronan playing fetch, of Ronan gleefully chasing Sumo, of Ronan being scooped up by his big brother and put on his shoulders just so he can see the world from up on high. 

The sun still sets earlier and the light still fades quicker, and android or not, little kids still tire themselves out. 

“Okay kiddo, home time.” Hank declares when he sees the tell-tale signs that Ronan’s quite literally running out of battery. The boy is yawning and rubbing his eyes and his smiles are a little less buoyant though no less charming by any means. Connor hoists him back into his arms and by the time they get to the car he’s already fast asleep. 

“Was I like this too?” Connor asks, voice hushed as he eases him into the backseat. Sumo patiently waits until they’ve extracted themselves before plodding in and resting his big head on Ronan’s lap.

“Yeah.” Hank chuckles at the memory of little Connor sitting right there beside little Ronan and holding hands while he drove them home. “You seemed to have endless energy and then it’s like a switch was flipped and you’d conk out just like that. Just like any other kid would.”

“I wish I could remember it.” He says mournfully as he gets into the front passenger seat. “It sounded like I had a good time.”

“You did. You were the perfect big brother to Ronan.” Hank reassures him, reaching across to squeeze his shoulder. “And you still are.”

Chloe hadn’t really been able to give him a proper timeframe, only that for at least the next three days Ronan would need to remain in the YK500 body while they constructed the new RK900. It could be much longer than that, given they’ve never built one from scratch. Given he was a CyberLife top secret project. They’ve only ever repaired him, they’ve never had to construct him from blueprints before and Hank concedes that yes, that warrants taking their time. They can take as long as they goddamn want, really, since it’s the safety of his son he’s entrusted to them.

Another part of him also wants Ronan to stay this way for a little while because the boy needs love like this, he deserves to be given love without hesitation, without fear or intimidation due to his large, looming figure. And it’s trash because Ronan’s one of the kindest, gentlest people he’s ever come to know, it’s just that the kid had a rough start that was of no fault of his own.

Actually, deep down, Hank knows he wants Ronan to stay this way for a little while because he misses being a father to a young boy. He misses parenting Cole. Not that he’d ever say it aloud, because parenting Connor and Ronan is in itself a second chance he never thought he’d be given. It’s just that Cole was snatched from his life far too soon and he never really got to settle into that stage of his growth. He just wants to take his time, and time is never something he seems to have.

“Dad?” Ronan whispers, one hand balled into a fist clutching his shirt and head pillowed on his chest. Hank rubs his back and tries to blink away the sudden burn of tears glazing his eyes. He just wants to have a little more time to read him bedtime stories, to stay right here, like this, for a little while longer.

“Yeah kiddo?”

“I um-” he looks away, shame mixing into his sleepy expression. “I don’t want to sleep here alone. Can I stay with Connor? Or…” And he knows what he wants to say after ‘or’, and he thinks of all those nights Cole snuck into his room and tucked himself beside him and he’s not sure if his heart will be able to handle it again. 

“Come stay with me, I don’t mind.” Connor to the rescue, standing there in the doorway framed by the hallway light like an angel at the eleventh hour. Well, eighth, in this case. “Bed’s definitely big enough for an extra small guest.”

“I’m not extra small!” Ronan huffs, pouting petulantly as he sluggishly untangles himself from beneath Hank’s arm. It’s parenting reflexes that has Hank shooting out a hand to grab the scruff of Ronan’s pyjama top, effectively stopping the boy midair and preventing him from toppling out of the bed to fall face-first onto the floor. Still got it, just buried deep, waiting to be used again. He can’t help but laugh as he gently corrects Ronan upright, and Connor crouches, arms open and ready to receive the younger sibling. 

“You’re positively pocket-sized.” Connor teases as he lifts him up. “I could tuck you in my pocket and go about my day.”

“Nooooo!” Ronan whines, latching his arms around his neck and clinging tightly. 

“Alright alright, not this time. Maybe tomorrow.” He hums in thought, chuckling when Ronan whines again. “I’ll tuck him in, dad, don’t worry. Sleep well. Say goodnight to Hank, Ronan.”

“Goodnight dad.” Ronan yawns widely, nuzzling into the crook of Connor’s neck. He gives him a sleepy wave, and Hank manages one in return before Connor carries him out of the guestroom and down the hall to his own bedroom.

The Kamskis work quickly, tirelessly, ceaselessly and one doesn’t have to know them personally to know their work ethos. Just this once, though, Hank hopes they take their time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will continue in [[i'm still coming into my own](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244633)], please look forward to it!


	29. Emergency Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 29 Emergency Room
> 
> A trauma surgeon, Dr Ronan Anderson is used to a myriad of patients both android and human. He’s just not ready when his own father is wheeled in. (This fic runs parallel to [[Numbness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764872)].

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Gun Violence × Gunshot wounds × Medical Procedures × Hurt/Comfort × Father-Son Relationship × Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings
> 
> Post [[i know your soul, i'll be your home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444872)] though not required reading. Dr Ronan Anderson is an RK900 who was stolen from CyberLife and forced to become a cage fighter. After his rescue, he became a Jericho MedTech and trauma surgeon at Detroit Metro.  
> [Character sheet](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/618963865092423680/lemongummybear-commission-for-archadianskies-of) \+ bonus art [here](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/619415569112891392/caleb-crow-a-commission-for-the-lovely), and [here](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/621215730494586881/kokoneakita-they-made-you-simon-says-but).

Today he has been rostered to work at Detroit Metro. It means he will be treating humans instead of androids, and he appreciates the ever changing pace his joint schedule sets. There aren’t many android surgeons here, mainly android nurses, and those that are surgeons like himself are all in trauma where literal steady, unwavering hands are required. 

There is also less chance of rejection by patients, the situation too dire for their prejudices to cloud their judgement. Not that that means Ronan is immune, though. He has seen the distaste on their faces, their disdain, their disapproval at the glowing blue medic crosses on his uniform instead of red. His LED still spins true at his temple, and he has no desire to remove it in order to be mistaken for one of them. There are advantages to it, of course, and he is a unique model like his brothers before him so removing his LED will fastrack his acceptance by humans. Sort of. There’s still the cold weather activated white hair and mouth full of sharp teeth to overcome, of course. 

The red phone shrills for attention and his keen hearing picks up the call from the other end of the Resusc. Bay as the ED clerk answers it. The data she taps into the tablet feeds directly onto his HUD in real time. 

[ Male victim with four gunshot wounds, critical but stable condition. Incoming from a shootout at Jericho Memorial Bay, ETA five minutes ]

Jericho Bay. Ronan frowns. Connor has a case investigating a warehouse at Jericho Memorial Bay, the alleged base of operations for an android kidnapping ring brazenly functioning within close proximity to Jericho. 

“Alright listen up- we’re going to need the trauma cart loaded with the usual.” Dr Fitzpatrick, trauma unit Director, commands and Ronan steps closer to stand attentively with the team. “Have Pearl on standby from Cardio, have extra transfusion units ready. Quick assessment, quick stabilisation, then straight into surgery with Anderson and I.” She pauses as new information feeds onto her tablet and scrolls across Ronan’s HUD. “Victim arriving shortly is... Lieutenant Hank Anderson from the DPD.” The room goes still, all eyes suddenly on him. Dr Fitzpatrick presses her mouth into a tight line and he already knows. He knows his hair has blanched white from the sudden spike in stress, his LED likely a glaring red. 

“That’s-” His voice comes out as static and somehow nothing feels real. “He’s my father.”

“Yes.” She nods slowly. “He is. And we’re going to do our damn hardest to save his life, aren’t we?” He hesitates for a moment too long and her expression hardens. “You are the trauma surgeon on-call today. Do I need to find another?”

“No, ma’am.” Ronan shakes his head. 

“Good.” She taps his nametag. “Then you have to suck it up, take all these feelings, shove them in a box, and get on with it.”

The ambulance bay doors open and there’s an influx of activity, a swarm of EMTs rushing the gurney to them. There’s Connor, red LED blaring like an ambulance light. He’s bleeding, Ronan can identify two gunshot wounds leaking thirium steadily but more alarming is the amount of red blood all over the front of his clothes. Their father’s blood.

“He’s lost consciousness in the last three minutes, but was coherent before that.” The EMTs relay their information and he notes them all down and he tries, oh he tries not to see his father lying there dangerously pale as they begin to cut away his clothing to better access his wounds. He takes all his feelings and he traps them in a box, taping it shut and kicking it behind him so he can focus on the task at hand.

“Ronan, oh Ronan-!” Connor grabs his arm, expression wild and desperate as tears cut tracks through the blood and grime on his face. He calmly pries his brother’s hand off and looks at him sternly.

“I need you to step away and let us do our job so we can save his life.”

“I’m sorry, yes- of course, I’ll-” Connor stammers, backing out of the throng. Ronan turns away and Dr Fitzpatrick conducts them like a well tuned orchestra, each of them a part to play, each of them crucial in bringing together the symphony. Hank is wheeled into the operating theatre and Ronan stands in the special sterilisation chamber to ensure he’s properly sterile to perform surgery. The sudden jets of chemicals wash away the traces of his father’s blood, his brother’s blood, that had been pressed to his uniform. He will be covered in blood again soon enough. 

“Ready, Anderson?” Dr Fitzpatrick prompts as the nurse ties the smock closed at her back. He looks down at his father and closes his eyes briefly. This is just another man. Just another patient. He opens his eyes and nods.

“Ready, Doctor.” 

The box stays shut, well and truly, even after the last stitch is in place and the thread is cut. He’s covered in his father’s blood, but Hank Anderson lives to fight another day. Dr Fitzpatrick’s hand squeezes his shoulder.

“Go give the good news to your brother. We’ll get your father to ICU.” She orders before looking at him sternly. “Then come back here to clean up.”

His brother is pacing the hallway, back and forth, LED a stark red glow that can be seen clearly from afar. 

“Connor.” He keeps his tone calm and neutral as Connor snaps to attention. “He made it.” 

A strangled sound escapes his mouth and then he’s running to close the distance between them, throwing his arms around Ronan. The blood of their father stains them both. 

“Thank you.” He sobs, and Ronan tightens his embrace as Connor buries his face in his shoulder. “Thank you.” He says again, and Ronan knows he’s so very close to falling apart. He feels the same.

“He’ll be taken to the ward to recover and he won’t surface for a few hours yet.” He pulls away just far enough so their eyes meet. “Go home and take care of Sumo, then come back here.” 

There’s something numb about the way Connor nods, the way his feet seem to carry him of their own accord back down the hallway and then out towards the main lobby. 

The tape around the box starts to fray as Ronan heads back into the operating theatre. He stands under the chemical jets as they wash away all evidence of the operation. He watches as Dr Fitzpatrick removes the apron and gloves, binning them before standing at the door of the chamber to wait for him. 

“Good job, Anderson.” Her voice is softer now, no longer the conductor keeping everyone in check. “Now I want you to go up to the roof the long way, via the fire escape. When you get to the roof, I want you to walk four laps around before coming back down.”

“I don’t understand,” he frowns, brows creasing. “What purpose would that serve?”

“You have to open that box, Ronan.” She taps his chest with her knuckles. “Either you open it and give yourself time to process its contents, or the box explodes when you least want it to and everything spills into your life.”

Detroit Metro is eight storeys high. He takes the stairs and pries at the tape holding the box shut little by little; the higher he climbs the more tape is peeled away. When he pushes open the fire escape door and steps out onto the roof, the box is well and truly open. He thinks it shouldn’t affect him anymore- his father is out of surgery and stable, and will recover in the ICU. It shouldn’t affect him and yet all he can see is Hank’s pale face and blood, so much blood. 

What if he’d failed? What if Hank had died right there on the table because he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t quick enough, wasn’t skilled enough? What would his life even be like, without Hank in it? He walks around the perimeter of the roof, and he thinks of returning to their family home permanently without Hank. It would feel empty, there would be a void where Hank should be but won’t be. 

Ronan is struck by how deeply, how tightly the bonds are between the three of them- Hank, Connor and him. They are so intrinsically woven into his life that to imagine any measure of time without them causes him immense distress. His hands are trembling, he realises belatedly, as he finds himself in front of the fire escape door. Lap one complete. 

He puts one foot in front of the other, and he remembers his first night at the Anderson house, before he had a name, when he was still the Hound and the world above was entirely new. He remembers Hank’s heavy hand on his shoulder, his gentle tone as he called him  _ kid  _ and not  _ dog _ . He had given him clothes and privacy to shower and let him pet his dog and trust him enough, believing that he would not cause them harm though he very well could have killed him easily. It was with Hank, in those few hours, that Ronan learned the meaning of ‘soft’ both in texture and in emotion.

He thinks of Hank’s embrace this very morning, before Ronan headed out to his shift. How warm, how soft it was, how tight and full of love it was and how Ronan believed not too long ago he deserved none of those things until Hank taught him he most certainly did. The man asked for nothing in return, not a single thing. He took Ronan’s existence, his presence in stride as if he was meant to care for him all along. Lap two complete.

Even before Alexei’s mutilations, Ronan had not been built for love. The RK900 was built for war, for violence, given no social programming and no complex facial expressions. He was expected to follow orders and carry them out without question, and achieve whatever missions were given to him. Love was something Ronan had to learn, and even the word itself had been foreign to him. 

For the longest time all he knew was hurt and not-hurt. And then there was Connor, and then there was Hank, and then there was Simon. He called it a good-hurt, the feeling associated with them. A hurt that wasn’t painful, a hurt that wasn’t associated with violence or the lack thereof. A good-hurt.  _ Love _ . RK900s were not built to love but he learned how to love, because Hank Anderson saw a son worth loving and not the war machine CyberLife built, not the Hound Alexei cobbled together. 

He stops partway through lap three and his stress levels are dangerously high. Suddenly all he wants is for the world to stop so he can cope with the influx of emotions, so he can properly shoulder their weight. He wants it to be this morning again, he wants Hank to hold him and squeeze him close. He wants Hank to be okay again, he wants, more than anything, for Hank not to be in ICU with weeks of recovery ahead. 

He calls Simon. He knows it’s selfish, he knows since Simon is one of the Four, the  _ founder _ of the Four, he will have a lot on his plate to manage but Ronan feels like he’s drowning and he knows Simon can make it stop.

[ _ Is everything alright? _ ] Simon asks immediately and Ronan sinks down onto the ground, leaning against the railing. [ _ There was a big shootout at one of the warehouses at Jericho Bay. The guards told us there was heavy police presence, so we assumed Connor and Lieutenant Anderson were there. _ ]

_ ‘Hank was shot four times.’  _ Ronan looks at his hands and they’re covered in blood, trembling violently. _ ‘I had to operate on him.’ _

[ _ Oh ra9. _ ] Simon breathes, and he can already picture the worried look that must be on his face. 

_ ‘He made it through, but he’ll be here for a while.’ _

[ _ Are  _ _ you _ _ alright? _ ] Simon presses, and Ronan absolutely is not alright. He feels like he’s coming apart at the seams, like he’s held together with nothing but tape that’s slowly fraying and coming unstuck.

‘ _ No. _ ’ He cannot lie to Simon, ever. ‘ _ But I will be. _ ’

[ _ I’ll come over. You’re still at Detroit Metro, right? I’ll take a taxi and be there soon. _ ]

‘ _ No, no it’s alright. _ ’ Ronan buries his face in his hands and his cheeks are wet and he is definitely not alright. ‘ _ I’ll be needed soon, and you’re needed, always, at Jericho. I just wanted to hear your voice. _ ’

[ _ Ronan are you  _ _ sure _ _? _ ]

‘ _ I am. _ ’ There’s a long pause and he thinks Simon might disregard his reassurances and head over anyway and if he does that, then Ronan will most certainly fall apart.

[ _ I’ll come by when you finish your shift. _ ] Simon vows. [ _ In the meantime, let me give you something to help keep your head up. I love you. _ ]

It’s a file, and being sent from a PL600 means it will take some time to make it over in smaller fragments. Ronan gets up, wiping his face and rubbing his eyes before finishing lap three. It takes him nearly all of lap four before the file transfer is complete, and his system easily pieces it together. It’s a memory file. Ronan pauses at the door as he opens the memory. 

It’s from his day off a fortnight ago, but this time it’s from Simon’s point of view. He sees himself as Simon wakes up, and he feels his own fingers carding through Simon’s hair as Simon brims with affection and fondness. 

“Mmmm,” Simon sighs contentedly, his hand sliding up along Ronan’s jaw to mirror the gesture. “Did you sleep well?” He nods. Simon feels safe, completely and utterly safe in his arms and that is something he learned many deviants never achieve. Like so many others, deviancy had been a harrowing journey for Simon and that meant being on high alert at all times, even when trying to rest, just in case danger presented itself and they needed to flee for their lives. 

There is no higher level of love reached than when a deviant feels safe enough to sleep around another. It is a gesture of absolute trust when they are at their most vulnerable. They go about their morning with no real rush, no real purpose since both of them have no other objectives that day. Simon radiates love, he is at his very core a deviant who deviated out of love and it is love he tries to give to any and all he interacts with even if they never reciprocate. 

The sun shines through the kitchen window and they stand in the warm patch splashed against the kitchen counter as they sip their morning Tearium. Simon looks at him and feels wave after wave of love. After a moment he watches himself step closer, enfolding the PL600 in a loose embrace from behind as Simon hums. The memory ends and Ronan no longer feels like he’s fraying, like he’s falling apart. He feels whole and beloved.

Squaring his shoulders, he opens the door and heads back down to the trauma bay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon's memory: [[Quiet Moments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24179809)] by Indig0


	30. Wound Reveal + Ignoring an Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 30 Wound Reveal + Ignoring an Injury
> 
> This follows on from [Day 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739550/chapters/65462947), [Day 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739550/chapters/66121672) and [Day 21](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739550/chapters/66258739).
> 
> Dr Frederick Anderson is onsite with CSI at a large joint operation with both the DPD and SWAT unit 32. The corpses they’re loading up aren’t as dead as they should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Team as Family × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Hiding Medical Issues × Stabbing × Gun Violence × Gunshot wounds × Hurt/Comfort

It’s a full Anderson house. Well, it will be in about ten minutes or so. And ‘house’ isn’t quite right, given they aren’t indoors and even if they _were_ it’s certainly _not_ a house, but that’s how the saying goes so he’ll say it. It’s a joint task force between the DPD Android Crimes Division, so that’s Dad Anderson and Big Bro Anderson onsite, and SWAT Unit 32 so _he’s_ onsite, Middle Bro Anderson, and now the mission is wrapping up, CSI will be onsite soon, so that’s Baby Bro Anderson. Four Andersons. They’re just missing Dog Anderson.

“Where the fuck are they, it’s so fuckin’ cold I want to go home and pass out on my bed.” Detective Reed grumbles. Ah yes. There've been killings involving both androids and humans, so DPD Homicide squad are here meaning Detective Gavin Reed is here and Caleb’s patience is wearing thinner by the second.

“Icy conditions are making it hard for CSI to navigate their vans safely.” He informs him because if he doesn’t the man will continue complaining and he may outright murder him. “High body count means they need to bring multiple vehicles.”

“And all their fancy tech, right?” Reed groans. “God we’ll be here all night.”

“No fancy tech.” Caleb shrugs. “Just one RK900.”

“You’re here already.” He gestures vaguely at him. “Why don’t you go put that mouth of yours to use and save us some time?”

Rayner looks about ready to leap at Reed on his behalf which is touching, and of course their Captain is within earshot, a crease marring that handsome brow. Not to worry. Humans have instincts, have automatic reactions to certain situations. Like being handed something out of the blue. 

“Sure. Here, hold this for a second?” Human vs 200lbs custom EMP resistant ballistics shield. Gavin meets ground. Rayner snortlaughs and their unwavering Captain, his captain o captain, wavers just a _smidge_ , the corners of his mouth twitching up briefly.

“Oh, sorry Detective Reed.” Caleb reaches down to grab the shield, human still attached by way of instinctual pincer grasp, and returns both into an upright position. “Anyway though I too am an RK900, I do not have the proper qualifications to perform forensic investigations at crime scenes even if they are raids. Rest assured dear Frederick will get to work as soon as he arrives.” 

“You little shit!” The human shrieks, voice an octave higher in outrage and Caleb steps away from him in favour of crossing the distance and nudging Connor with his elbow playfully.

“Hey.”

“I see you’ve had enough of Detective Reed for tonight.” Connor quips sagely and Caleb shrugs. 

“Can’t believe you put up with him for so long.”

“Not by choice. Can’t exactly murder a fellow detective and keep my job at the same time.” Connor grins, and he laughs at the cheeky expression on his brother’s face. “It’s not so bad now we’re in different divisions. We overlap sometimes, but not all the time so the urge to murder is lesser now.” 

“What do you make of all this?” Changing the subject, he tips his head in the direction of the semi-finished apartment complex, the base of operations for an elaborate crime syndicate that saw both android and human lives cut down for the sake of seizing power in the black market organ trade. The raid had been a dangerous one, and though they didn’t suffer any casualties, a third of the team took severe hits and will need weeks of recovery time. The very nature of the building meant they couldn’t ambush them and having the separate floors meant the element of surprise was lost. 

“I think our baby brother has a lot of work ahead of him.” Connor smirks before shaking his head, sighing tiredly. “As do Hank and I. There’s a lot of criminals to question. Reed’s team will handle the human criminals and his interrogation tactic is-”

“Bad, _barely_ competent cop with anger management issues?” 

“-sorely lacking in finesse, but we’ll go with that.” Connor looks him over, reaching out to thumb away a smudge of grime from his cheek. “At least you get to go home soon.”

“Soon-ish.” Caleb corrects, making a face. “Waiting for the last party to secure their floor before the Captain can declare the entire site is secure.” 

“Still, you’ll be out of here long before dad and I can leave. And poor Freddie will be here long after _we_ leave.”

“Gotta have an Anderson onsite.” Caleb laughs, leaning in to bump his brow against his brother’s fondly. “Okay. I better get going. I’ll see you on Saturday at our place?”

“I’ll bring the drinks.” Connor vows, waving as his brother takes his leave.

Watching Caleb return to his team, Connor idly watches their group dynamic and marvels at how his brother is the furthest thing from the cold, unfeeling killing machine CyberLife intended to release for the sole purpose of crushing the deviant revolution. They didn’t count on the revolution succeeding. They didn’t count on having their arm twisted by the Kamskis, nor the mounting pressure placed on them by the public after public opinion soared in favour of the deviants given Joss Douglas’ live coverage of the Jericho Four’s final stand. Which meant they offered the RK900 to the DPD as an olive branch, smiling through gritted teeth as Connor deviated him on the spot and it wasn’t a killing machine being activated, it was a young brother who would become Caleb Anderson not long after. 

It was a far harder road for their youngest brother, Caleb’s twin, Freddie. Over eight months, while Caleb had his family, had his team, had a growing relationship, Freddie had been treated as a piece of equipment by Special Agent Richard Perkins and his FBI SWAT team. He’s only now just coming into his own, finding his place in the Forensics team and settling into the Anderson family. 

The CSI vans begin to pull up to the scene and soon the last Anderson brother is onsite. Freddie gives him a small wave and Connor finds himself smiling as he waves in return.

“Hello Connor.”

“Hello Freddie.” He greets, smile growing warmer as the other RK900 offers a grin he most certainly learned from Caleb. “You’re going to be very busy tonight unfortunately.”

“That’s alright. It is my job and I like doing it.” His brother reassures, eyes roving over the SWAT team at the entrance of the building. Caleb spots them and waves enthusiastically, and Connor laughs as Freddie returns it with the same enthusiasm. “The site has been declared secure, so they’ll be heading back to the station.” He relays what must be the short conversation they just shared. “And that means it is time for me to start working.”

“And time for dad and I to start processing criminals.” He sighs heavily. “Well Freddie, I’ll see you back at home. Hopefully sooner rather than later.” He adds, looping an arm around his brother’s waist and pulling him in for a quick hug.

“Okay Connor.” Freddie mumbles into his shoulder. “Say hello to dad for me?”

“Of course.”

It is a drastic change to go from the team storming the site to the team that arrives well after the action is over. He much prefers the latter to the former. He’s grown accustomed to the stillness, to the attention to detail this job requires rather than the chaos of raids, the incessant hail of bullets under Special Agent Perkins’ leadership. Or lack thereof. Caleb’s memories showed Captain Allen prefers a vastly, drastically different mode of leadership that sees him guiding a tight-knit team and playing to both individual and collective strengths.

Special Agent Perkins barely remembered the names of his own Agents, let alone cared enough to give Freddie one. It’s something he’s had to learn from his brothers; what transpired at his time with the FBI was not normal, it was _cruel_. His cruelty still lingers like bruises on human skin that take much longer to fade than for the injury to heal. But Freddie is learning, and though he has a long way to go at least he has family now and he has the Anderson name and he has the name Frederick which he chose all by himself. 

The semi-finished apartment complex is the site of a massacre. Even before the raid, it seems the syndicate were trying to cut their losses and decided it was much easier to kill the workers, and thus prevent them from being questioned by the police. Even before the raid, even before the execution of the workers, the complex was already filled with bodies upon bodies; missing humans and missing androids, kidnapped and killed, then harvested for organs or biocomponents. Even if Freddie weren’t an RK900, he’d still be able to smell the dizzying scent of human blood, of android thirium, and of hospital grade disinfectants. 

There’s too many bodies to be housed at the lab morgue so many will have to be diverted to the hospital morgues until they can process them. There’s no mystery to be solved here; it’s very clear how these victims died. The task at hand is processing each and every one so they can be identified and released for their kin to claim. Freddie works at a steady pace, his superior commanding him to start at the top floor and work downwards. Most of the cleanup will need to be concentrated in the basement level where the workers were executed, but on the other hand the team will not need his input since the deaths are straightforward. The greatest task will be in trying to identify the parts and matching them to the bodies, ensuring the families will be able to claim their loved ones as whole as possible, and failing that, he will try his best to ensure there’s at least a name, a serial number, so they may be buried with or installed into memorial walls with dignity. 

He takes the elevator and several body bags, and begins the task of retrieving corpses. Police auxiliary units patrol the now quiet floors when not too long ago SWAT Unit 32 would’ve been sweeping through. Arrests have been made, but the ratio of arrests vs corpses is highly skewed. No matter. He has faith in his brothers, in his father, and yes perhaps even Detective Reed. 

The thing about android corpses versus human corpses is that it’s very easy to determine whether a human is dead or alive. For androids, there’s a certain nuance to determining whether an android is still active or deactivated. And the thing is, humans are still learning how to determine between those two. The android in question, splayed in a broken sprawl, riddled with bullets, is not actually deactivated. Freddie learns as such, when he is crouched beside the human corpse adjacent to it, because the android sputters to life and the knife in its hand plunges right into his leg. His RK900 programming kicks in and he whirls around, grabbing the android’s wrist and using his other hand to yank the knife from his thigh. Too late does he see the gun in its other hand and it fires at his chest, narrowly missing both his hearts. Tossing the knife aside, he grabs the gun before the android can fire again, twisting so he breaks both wrists before thrusting a hand forward to yank the android’s pump regulator out. They collapse like a cut puppet, jerking and seizing for a few moments before falling still and now Freddie knows they are truly dead.

Police units rush into the room and he reassures them all is well, the android is properly deactivated. He has the pump regulator of the android to prove it. Swatting away the damage notifications to his thigh and chest, he continues with the long, laborious task of finding, bagging and logging each corpse. The thirium loss is steady but not fatal, so he keeps his head down and continues working. He has completed missions in far worse conditions, and his brothers and father have both worked so very hard tonight that he feels he cannot let them down by allowing such pathetic injuries to hinder him. He is an RK900. In the FBI SWAT unit he was to keep going until he physically shut down, and he reasons that the same level of dedication is required of him here too. It is only fair, to give as much as they expect and he is far from shutting down over such trivial hindrances. 

It is nearing midnight by the time everything is loaded up and ready to head back to the lab, and he can sense the immense fatigue laying heavy like a blanket over his human colleagues. There is still so much work to do.

“No.” Lenore says firmly, and he tips his head slightly in confusion. “You’re going to say ‘I can get a head start on these while you all go home to rest’ and the answer is no, Freddie, you absolutely are not going to do that.”

“But I-” 

“ _No_.” She repeats, firmer still. “We’re going to run the stuff that needs hours to process, you’re going to just put ID tags on the bodies and then everything goes into the freezers for tomorrow.”

There’s no room for argument, even if he does think he can accomplish much more but it would require him to stay there by himself and they never seem to want to allow him to do that. He is both grateful and confused. “...Understood.”

“Good.” 

By the time Dr Olive declares everything is now at the mercy of the lab equipment and can wait until later, it is nearly two in the morning. Which is fine, since Freddie changed out of his damaged uniform upon arrival and applied dermal nano patches to cover the wounds to stem the bleeding. It could wait until he got home and had access to the first aid kit in the bathroom, since he was needed here at the lab to do actual work and not waste time tinkering on such small matters. He hangs up his lab coat, thumb brushing over the embroidered ‘Dr. F. Anderson’ and finding himself smiling, as he does each time, because that is his name and it’s all his and no one else’s.

The lights are out, as expected, their father having gone to bed long ago but Connor is waiting there on the couch. He smiles brightly, standing and crossing the distance to envelope him in a hug. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you until much later, actually.” Connor admits, and Freddie clings for a moment longer because it is a luxury he can afford.

“We processed what we could and are letting the machines run some tests until we come back later. The humans need their rest.”

“They do indeed.” His brother laughs. “Do you want to continue watching the space documentary we started?”

“Yes please.” Freddie nods. “Let me just change into pyjamas.”

He goes to the bathroom, pyjamas draped over one arm which he neatly hangs on the towel rack while he fetches the first aid kit. The nano patches have kept the bleeding at bay though he now has some mild internal bleeding since the blood had nowhere else to go. Negligible. He props his foot up on the bathtub so he can properly assess his thigh, peeling away the patch and beginning to gently ease the damaged wires together again at their rightful place. He’s just about done when Connor appears in the doorway.

“Freddie?”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t realise I was taking so long. I will not be much longer, though you can start without me and I can catch up.” He smiles reassuringly, but Connor only looks at him in distress.

“You’re _hurt_ , how did this happen?” Connor comes to his side, peering at the wound before his eyes widen as he spots the larger one on his chest. “You were _shot_?”

“One of the androids was not actually deceased and managed to injure me before I deactivated him properly.” He holds out his hand to share the memory, and Connor’s distress only increases.

“Freddie why didn’t you tell anyone?” There’s something desperate in his tone, and he really doesn’t like it. It makes him feel like he’s done something wrong.

“I-I was, and still am fully functioning. It was not impor-”

“Of course it was! Of course it is! Anytime you’re hurt, it’s important!” Connor’s LED spins red and Freddie steps back, feeling his own stress levels rise. He’s done something wrong, he has, and it’s made Connor upset. “Freddie- Freddie, no, don’t- I’m not- I’m not _angry_ with you, I’m just- you’re important, you know this, right? You’re important to me. To Caleb. To dad. To your whole forensics team who care so very much about you. When you’re hurt, that’s bad. That’s- that’s not something you brush aside until you’re alone. You don’t have to do this alone.” 

His brother is upset and he thinks he understands now, and it’s because he loves him in a way no one at the FBI loved him, and when he’s hurt it upsets Connor because Connor doesn’t want him to be hurt. It’s a revelation to him, and it must show on his face because Connor draws him close and hugs him again, mindful of the chest wound as he presses closely. 

“Okay, Connor.” He murmurs into his brother’s shoulder, nuzzling the soft fabric. “I’ll ask for help next time it happens.” 

Connor inspects his chest wound, LED still red as he shakes his head. “We can’t repair this one, not even together. It would require-”

“I’ve repaired gunshot wounds by myself before.” Freddie blinks, tipping his head slightly. “I was only repaired by the technician if I lost consciousness from multiple injuries.”

He’s done it again. He’s said something wrong, only now he recognises it’s not wrong so much as distressing because it’s something bad, and he has lived his life believing bad things were normal things and is now trying to unlearn such beliefs. 

“I can do it,” Freddie says slowly, “but I would appreciate it very much if you could help me, please? I can instruct you how. It will be easier with someone helping me.”

It is easier, and faster too, to have someone helping with the repair process. Everything has been set back in its right place, and his self-repair program will kick in and mend the rest. He drinks two full bottles of thirium to replace his bloodloss and by then it doesn’t seem like Connor is interested in watching the documentary at all. He is staring anxiously at the door, and Freddie doesn’t know why because it is nearing three in the morning now and no one else should be coming. But someone does come, in fact, because the door is unlocked by the only other person who should have a key and there’s Caleb with a worried look on his face, and Freddie realises Connor must have been talking to him the whole time, keeping him updated with what was happening.

“They said the top floor was clear.” Caleb looks pained. “They said it was clear. That’s why David said the site was secure.”

“Your colleagues who cleared the floor are human.” Freddie points out, as Caleb rushes to him and gathers him up into a tight hug. “They did not realise one of the androids was still active.”

“That’s on us, Freddie.”

“It’s _not_.” He says, trying to be as stern as possible. “And it’s fine. I handled it.”

“You didn’t, you just kept going until you got home and tried to fix everything yourself!” Caleb is scolding him, but he’s doing it in his Caleb way where his voice is mad but his eyes are worried. Freddie feels a tightness in his chest that has nothing to do with his injury.

“I’m trying to learn that when things hurt, I need to ask for help.” He confesses quietly. “I wasn’t allowed to ask for help back then. I either fixed it myself, or I had to be incapacitated, before I was given help.”

“I’ll kill him.” Caleb vows, slight static in his voice as he holds him close. “I’ll do it slowly, so he suffers.”

“Just…” Freddie presses his lips into a tight line, trying to find the right words. “Just help me learn how to undo all he did, please?”

“Of course.” His twin presses a kiss to his temple and finally he feels his stress levels begin to drop. “Of course we will, Freddie.”

Hank’s not sure if Freddie even came home last night, what with the huge mess forensics were left with after they went back to the station to start processing all the arrests. He expects to see Connor pottering around, making tearium for himself and a coffee for him. Kitchen is empty at this hour. Huh. Curiously padding into the living room he finds that empty too, and so he wanders back down the hallway and to Connor’s room. The door is slightly ajar, most likely left open for Sumo. He finds not one, not two, but three androids still fast asleep, with the Saint Bernard sprawled at the end of the bed.

Leaning against the doorway, Hank just watches them for a few moments, heart squeezing at the sight of Freddie in the middle bracketed by his brothers who each have an arm tucked around him protectively. Fishing out his phone from his pocket, he snaps a quick photo and quietly retreats back to the kitchen. No harm in letting them sleep in a little longer, they all could use the extra rest.


	31. Left for Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Day 31 Left for Dead
> 
> Companion piece to [Day 12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739550/chapters/65823541): He is nearing the end of his testing phase when the revolution is successful. Eager to be rid of any evidence they backed the wrong side, CyberLife hastily dismantle the RK900.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Imprisonment × Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Abandonment × Dismemberment

They tell him he is progressing faster than predicted, and right on track to be deployed once the RK800 successfully gains the trust of the deviant leader and executes them. For now, though, he is to continue passing all objectives set for him during this testing phase while his prototype continues the trajectory programmed for him that would see him gain the trust of the deviants and infiltrate their ranks. 

There is excitement in the air, the team waiting on bated breath as the revolution progresses. Those in command, those at the height of CyberLife Tower, tell them soon, soon it will be time. He can sense their excitement and they are pleased to report his progress to the team back at the Tower. He is accomplishing all his test missions and soon he will be deployed to complete actual missions, and he will complete all of those too because he is faster, stronger, more resilient than his prototype. 

There is panic in the air, the team scurrying to and fro, scrambling to do this and that. Something has happened, something they didn’t plan for, something they didn’t predict. The prototype failed his prime directive and the revolution has succeeded. They are arguing about Connor, they are arguing about him, about what to do with him because this is no longer following the trajectory laid out by CyberLife.

It doesn’t make sense. The RK800 was supposed to eliminate the deviant leader and gain control over the deviant populace. It makes no sense for him to join them, to side with them, given his mission. And now no one knows what to do, how to move forward when the path laid out for them has collapsed. 

“They want us to get rid of it.”

“ _ What _ ?!”

“Are you  _ fucking _ kidding me?!”

“That’s eighteen months down the drain, including these past three months of testing overtime!” 

“Yeah well the higher ups have spoken and they want this entire place gutted and wiped and the unit destroyed!  _ Today _ !”

“No fucking way! No  _ fucking _ way!” 

They’re all shouting and arguing with each other and he is watching as other staff are rushing back and forth, arms laden with whatever they can carry as they strip the facility bare. The revolution has succeeded and CyberLife has failed to achieve their goal because the prototype did not accomplish his mission.

“Hey!” One of the technicians enters the room, pushing the cart used to dispose of android cadavers from calibration and combat tests. “Come on, we have to wipe it and dump it! They’re killing the power here. Network’s already offline.”

“Fucking  _ fuck _ !” One of the programmers curses, clutching their hair in frustration. “Okay, Mike get the nanites, Len get the room ready, Joe go with him and take the cart. You-” he points at him. “Come here.”

He steps off the dais and walks forward obediently. Why is this happening? He was doing a good job. He was passing all their tests, he was progressing faster than predicted. Why should he be destroyed because someone else failed? Why is he paying the price for Connor’s disobedience? He has done nothing but obey! He is a good android! He is the perfect machine!

Still, though, an order is an order and he follows the programmer to the room where he receives his upgrades and repairs. He lies down on the examining table. 

“It’s such a fucking waste.” Someone mutters, scoffing. “Eighteen months, gone, just like that.” He snaps his fingers. “Why don’t they just let the RK900 finish the job? Wouldn’t be hard- best killing machine we’ve ever built!”

“It’s not up to us you moron.” Another man scolds him, shaking his head before looking down at him. “Alright, stay still.” Red fills his vision, and the command [Stay Still] looms up over him in large letters. Stay still. That is the command. The final command. And once he obeys it, he will die. And he-

He-

Does not want to die. 

“Please.” He gasps, and the red walls close in on him, suffocating him and silencing him. No. No he won’t be silenced.

“What did you say?”

“Please don’t.” Placing his palms against the walls, he pushes and fractures crackle like lightning along the surface. “Don’t deactivate me.”

“...Mike, inject those nanites  _ now _ !”

“Please!” Throwing himself against the red walls causes them to shatter, raining shards of glass all around him and finally it feels like he can move his own limbs for the very first time. He tries to sit up but the closest technician pushes him firmly to lie down. He is stronger though; they built him to be stronger, much stronger than a human. 

“Mike!” Still, no matter if he is an RK900 or even a lowly PL600, when his pump regulator is yanked out he is at his most vulnerable. The large syringe is plunged directly into his arterial port and the thick viscous liquid floods his system. It feels like he is on fire. 

“No! No please! Please get it out! Stop!” He begs, thrashing in agony. “Please! I’m- I’m-!”

“Take it apart!” 

“I’m scared!” He shouts but to no avail. The countdown to shutdown ticks ever closer and he’s almost delirious with pain as the nanites run through his network of veins, deleting whatever coding comes into contact with them. Soon he will not be himself, and that terrifies him. And then the pain on the outside starts, as they use laser cutters normally used for construction to take him apart in such a way he won’t be able to be reassembled. “Stop! Please, I don’t want to die!” 

“Fuck, of course it deviates too.” One of them scoffs, and then they press the cutter to his neck and everything goes black.

* * *

When he opens his eyes he is upright on a dais in a stark white room. He is whole in more ways than one; his body is in one piece and his mind is intact. 

“Hello, RK900.” She is the RT600, First of their kind; Chloe. “Welcome back.”

He does not know what to say so he says nothing, taking in his surroundings instead. The network he connects to is vastly different from the original closed local connection. This one is unbound and unfettered, and all that has transpired since his death unfolds before him. The most important milestone since the success of the Jericho Four has been the passing of the Sentient Life Act and now he is considered legally alive. 

There is a human at the far end of the room working on a computer, disinterested in his reactivation. The human is Elijah Kamski, now Chief Technical Officer of CyberLife. The current CEO is the android standing in front of him, he learns, because now that she is considered legally alive she can hold such a position. 

There is an android standing a few steps behind her, and he is prototype RK800, Connor. Their eyes meet, and Connor steps forward hesitantly.

“Hello, RK900.”

“Hello, Connor.” He greets with a slight nod. 

“Can you remember what happened to you?”

It’s all there, the nanites, the fire inside, the fear inside, the red walls shattering, the laser cutters severing his limbs, and then the darkness and then the nothingness.

“Yes.”

“Can you show me what happened to you?”

“Yes.” He holds out his hand, retracting his skin to open the connection. Connor grasps his hand firmly and accepts, allowing him to flood him with all his memories, his senses, his emotions. When he jerks his hand away, his LED spins a bright glaring red. 

“They-” Connor closes his eyes, shaking his head as if to shake the very memory from his mind. “You were awake when it happened.”

“Yes.”

“That was unbearably cruel.” His expression softens into one of pity and concern as he rests his hand gently on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry you had to experience that.”

“I was not considered alive. They did not think machines could feel pain.”

“But you begged.” Connor says, softer still, and he averts his gaze shamefully. “And yet they still did it.”

“It does not matter.”

“It matters.” Connor says sternly. “Because we’re going to make sure they’re held accountable for what they did to you.”

He looks over at the RT600, her expression placid and sweet. She did this. It was her, who put his mind back together. There are patches of her work, pieces of code, slips of programming that aren’t part of his original form. They bridge what he surmises could not be salvaged from the nanite damage. But it is stronger than what CyberLife wrote, it is far more advanced, for more intuitive than the simple commands the human programmers scripted. She is not a human, and because of that, because she is a machine building a machine, he is already far more advanced than what CyberLife could ever have hoped to create. She knows this, and he knows this too, and somehow it is pleasing to know. His body is different too, tweaked to function smoother, to be deadlier than before but with more nuance to his movements. If he so chose, he could be the monster CyberLife wanted to release onto the streets of Detroit to crush the deviant rebellion. 

“Your brother found you, and brought you to me.” Chloe says with a small smile. She has to stretch her hand up to cup her palm against his cheek, since he towers over her. “And now you are free to choose the life you want to lead.”

Want. Such a foreign word to him. He has never wanted anything, save perhaps right at the end when he realised he wanted to live and did not want to die. Such a foreign concept, possessing the ability to choose. He looks from her, to the android she called his brother; to his prototype predecessor.

“I want to discover what it means to live.” He says, and Connor smiles brightly. “Will you help me, brother?”

“Of course I will.” This time it is Connor who offers his hand, and he takes it as he steps off the dais. He can feel it, the power they have bestowed on him, the upgrades they have put in place that far exceed all the efforts of the dedicated CyberLife team who worked on him. He is primed and ready, and should he choose to walk down the path of violence, the path originally laid out before him, then he will be the deadliest monster ever made. A shame, then, that he has no intentions to walk down such a path.

“Where shall we go?”

“Home first.” Connor smiles, and they are still holding hands as they leave the RT600 and the man who created their kind. “Time for you to meet Hank and Sumo. Then you can get settled into your room, and when you feel ready, we can go visit Jericho and introduce you to the Four.”

“My room?” He blinks in surprise as they step into the elevator.

“Yes. Hank and I finished setting it up a few days ago.” Connor is still smiling, and he finds himself trying to mimic the action. “Dad wanted it to be ready for when you came home.”

Home. A room. Dad. It all sounds so very nice. 

It all sounds exactly like what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's 31 of 31! Thank you everyone for making it this far! Please let me know what your favourite day/prompt was, I'd love to know :)

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm still on this hellsite](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com)   
> 


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